Beyond the Fear
by Pereybere
Summary: It's Brennan's birthday and Booth decides she ought to live a little.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **_Beyond the Fear_

**Rating: **This is a nice little T rating, with romance and fluff aplenty.

**Disclaimer: **If Fox want this story, they can have it for free. Providing they don't sue me for stealing their characters.

**A/N: **I hope everyone likes. This turned out to be a bit longer than I expected. It started as a 'quickie' and then it just developed. I didn't want to rush it and I'm glad I didn't. Please review.

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"What you doing for your birthday then, Bones?" Booth asked, stirring sugar into his coffee with the bottom of his fork. "Hey, Sid," he called, before she could answer, "running low on cutlery?" Sid moved along the bar, his eyes narrowed with menace.

"All you had to do was ask, G-Man," he said, dropping a tea spoon next to the cup. "Sarcasm is not the same as dry wit, by the way…" Booth chuckled, replacing his fork with the spoon, turning back to Brennan. She was smiling, observing the banter with her usual silence.

"I'm going to read _Asia – An Anthropological Study_. I've been trying to find time for weeks…" she said, cradling her coffee in her hands. "Every time I open the book, I have work or the telephone rings or even just the mediocre things in life crop up." Booth winced, pulling on his collar, easing his tie away from his throat.

"Ouch, Bones…" he said. "It's your birthday and you're reading books?" She nodded, as though she didn't understand his grimace. "Hasn't Angela even tried to trick you into a night of clubbing?" Brennan chuckled, touching her coffee with the tip of her finger, tasting the caffeine on her skin.

"Of course she did," Booth turned on his stool. "But I resisted." Angela, ever the party-girl, wanted to invite all their colleagues, including Camille, to a nightclub, so they could drink, dance and generally feel ill in the morning. Brennan's head hurt at the prospect. Especially after her last disastrous night out with Angela.

"Birthday girl?" Sid called from the other end of the bar. "If you want, you and your crazy friends can have some food here? On the house?" Brennan eyed the restaurant owner fondly.

"Thanks Sid, but I'm really not in the mood to celebrate tonight." Booth rested his chin in his hand, still stirring his coffee, even though Brennan was sure the sugar was entirely dissolved.

"What did you usually do for your birthday, Bones? Before your parents died." She always felt a little melancholy at the mention of her mother and father. Recently though, with regular conversations with Booth, she was slowly learning to accept the good memories, instead of dwelling on her loss. Fondly, she cast her eyes on him, surprised to find that he was genuinely interested.

"My dad and I both loved the sea," she said at last. "We would take a drive to the sea and spend the afternoon on the coast. Sometimes my mother could come too, but usually she was busy. I shouldn't say this… but I quite liked being alone with my dad. Just him and I." Booth nodded, spearing his apple pie. "I love the smell of the sea. The feeling of freedom…" She sighed, emptying her cup. "What about you? Do you have any birthday rituals?" Booth offered her a half smile, filled almost with pride.

"Not for me, but for Parker, sure. I spend all day with him, just, you know, being his daddy." Brennan brushed her fingertips over her forehead, sweeping away a strand of hair.

"That's probably the best birthday gift you can give him," she said. "I'd bet a million dollars on it." Booth grinned, nodding. "He's a lucky kid." Sid took her empty cup, and she had nothing to focus her hands on, so she crushed her napkin into a ball, dropping it to the counter. "I'm going to go," she said. "But thanks for lunch." Booth glanced sideways.

"It was just coffee, Bones," he said.

"Thanks for coffee, then," Brennan replied, her hand dropping to his shoulder for the most fleeting of moments. Such fleeting moments had become more and more frequent, lately. She had no time to analyse the action, however. "Bye," she said, her fingers moving away from his shirt. Booth turned his head.

"Happy Birthday, Temperance," he said to her and she liked how Booth used her first name to accentuate special moments. It made her feel nice when he did. "Enjoy your book." Leaving the restaurant, she was chuckling to herself, amused at how everyone thought her choice of birthday celebration was sad. Angela had been appalled to think she was sitting alone with nothing but a journal and a glass of wine for comfort. Frankly, Brennan liked being alone, sometimes. Perhaps her ideal choice wouldn't have been the anthropology book, but she wasn't entirely opposed to the idea.

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Uncorking her bottle, Brennan inhaled the musky, woody scent and sighed. South African, she noticed, looking at the bottle. As she tilted the bottle to pour herself a glass, she heard her door bell and froze. Damn Angela, with all her persistence. It never failed her how her best friend could so easily manipulate people to achieve exactly what she wanted.

The bottle of wine thumped heavily against her table and Brennan moved towards the front door. "I don't care how hot the men are at Satin, I'm not going." She pressed her hand to the door frame, smirking to herself.

"Bones, open the door." Fumbling with the lock, a small blush staining her cheeks, she cursed her own presumptuousness. Hadn't she said goodbye to Booth just four hours ago? When she pulled back the door, he was standing, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He was smiling – but there was an odd awkwardness his expression – not at all like the usual cockiness he displayed.

"Is everything alright?" she asked by way of greeting, and he nodded.

"Sure," he said. "You look nice. Lets go." Brennan felt her forehead crease. "Dinner, Temperance. I'm taking you to dinner." She looked down at her shirt and her jeans and she shook her head.

"You most certainly are not!" She was indignant, and somewhat inconvenienced by his matter of fact tone. "I'm not dressed for dinner." Booth slipped his arm around her shoulder, ushering her out of the apartment. Behind her, the door closed, and she dropped her head back against the door, her skull thudding against the wood. "My keys are in there," she sighed, casting a weary, yet irritated glare his way.

"You don't need your keys for now. Come on, it's your birthday." She reluctantly followed him along her corridor, their arms linked as he led her.

"Couldn't you have told me earlier about this plan of yours?" she asked, sounding rather ungrateful. Booth smiled.

"It wouldn't have been a surprise then, would it?"

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He drove for what felt like forever, far out of DC city and into Virginia. She watched the passing scenery silently, hating that he was so vague and secretive. Their conversation followed, but when she asked a question about their eventual destination, Booth just smirked. His incessant answering being 'You'll see'. Frustrated at his plan was one secret she wasn't going to get a handle on, Brennan took to sulking, if only momentarily.

It was dark and the narrow roads seemed to be travelling to nowhere. Beyond the darkened lanes, equally darkened fields sped by, and she felt disorientated, catching, occasionally, the tell-tale smirk on his lips, and she felt instantly weary and distrusting by default. "I hate surprises," she murmured, pressing her cheek to the glass, wondering if perhaps going out with Angela would have been preferable to the unknowing gnawing in the pit of her stomach, now. He seemed to be enjoying the suspense.

When even the occasional twinkling lights in the distance disappeared, she attributed the darkness to being close to the ocean, and when she rolled the window down, only an inch, her suspicions were confirmed. In an instant, the pieces clicked together, and she remembered sitting with him in Wong Foo's, coffee in hand. _'we would take a drive to the sea and spend an afternoon on the coast' _she couldn't believe that he had speared that little piece of information and used it to manipulate her out of her apartment. Turning her head, her eyes narrowed in an intense glare, she saw the smirk again and her heart swelled, her fake irritation melting away like ice over a grill. Booth was perhaps too good at manipulation – better even, than Angela.

Outside, she heard the ocean now and she sighed. "How did you know I wouldn't be horrified at what you're doing?" she asked, relaxing into her seat, sure that she had the riddle entirely worked out. Booth glanced at her through the darkness, only the headlights reflecting against the road illuminating his strong features and the dark granite of his eyes.

"Because I know you, Bones," he said, pulling his SUV into an empty parking lot on the cliff edge. The sound of the ocean filled the vehicle, and she had nothing she could say in response. Did he really know her so well? How had she missed this development? In her life, there had been very few people to understand her – and all at once, someone did – all without her knowledge? It wasn't the fact that he knew she wouldn't freak out. It was the way in which his voice changed when he spoke. Almost as if he _really_ did know exactly what pieces of information made her Temperance Brennan.

When he killed the engine, tilting his body towards her, she pulled a tight smile across her lips. "Well…" she began, not quite sure what she ought to say. Next to her, Booth moved his keys from one hand to the other, watching the varying emotions flit across her features.

"Don't be freaked out, Bones," he said, reaching out to knock her chin gently. "I know you don't like people getting in. But I'm not going to hurt you." She wasn't sure where their conversation was going – or what it was leaning towards. She suspected they weren't discussing their professional relationship, yet until now, there had been no mention that their relationship meant anything more.

"So, why are we here, Booth?" she asked, unclipping her seatbelt and, as if by magic, the mood broke and he grinned.

"It's your birthday, Bones," he replied as though he had explained everything. "Come on, I'll show you." He pushed his door open, coaxing slightly chilly costal air into the car, and she trembled, either with anticipation or with cold. She preferred to convince herself that it was the breeze.

Taking her elbow, he directed her across the parking lot, to where a whitewashed, recently resorted lighthouse towered above their heads. From the doorway, she saw how the spiralling staircase was illuminated by the long lights attached to the dark rock walls. The glow was warm, coaxing. She stood, just inside, lifting her eyes and following the curve of the cast iron stairs as high as she could. "Come," Booth said, ascending the first few steps before reaching out to encourage her. Brennan held her breath for the first fifteen steps, listening to the sound of her feet against the metal, heaving and echoing, and the oceanic breeze as it blew against the glass windows. When her throat burned, she exhaled, holding tight to the railing.

"How did you…?" she asked, stopping on the winding curve. Booth stopped too.

"You have that book… the one with all the pictures… when you mentioned going to the coast, I connected the pieces. You're not the only one who is good a puzzles, Bones…" she turned her head, gazing out the small rectangular window, watching as a small fishing boat moved along the ocean, it's little light twinkling majestically as it went. "What was the book called…? Booth wondered aloud, lifting his head to where the staircase spiralled like a loosely coiled spring above their heads.

"_Lighthouses of the World_," she almost whispered. "I've had it for years…" and he was the only person in the world who understood it's relevance. When he shifted, his foot clanged against the metal and her thoughts were interrupted. "Keep going," she said, encouraging him onward.

Together they ascended the stairs all the way to the top. Brennan stood, overlooking the cliffs below, and she felt warmer than she had in years, despite the draft what blew into the lighthouse from the entrance to the deck. Her friends understood the rational part of her brain – the part that voted science over sentiment. But standing next to her was the one person who understand what went on inside her mind – beyond the exterior of science. She admitted, even if only to herself, that she was not entirely comfortable with knowing he had worked her out. "Follow me, Bones," Booth said, dropping his hand to her spine, urging her out into the fresh, salty air. "Dinner?" he asked, gesturing to the small round table, set for two. She inhaled sharply, turning her head to him.

"How did you _do_ this?" she asked, her heart thudding an unsteady beat inside her chest. Booth shrugged.

"Sid knows some people," he said. Behind the table, two waiters dressed in long white aprons and bow-ties stood with their hands behind their backs. Next to the table, deck heaters kept the area warm and the chill was suddenly gone.

"Good evening, Miss Brennan," one said, pulling a chair back for her. She took a tentative step forward, quite sure that she had never been involved in such a grand romantic gesture before. Booth slid into the seat opposite, his lips offering her only a telltale smile. He wasn't entirely confident that she was impressed or even okay with his plans.

"Being that we're on top of a lighthouse," he said, "we can't have a very extensive menu, so I took the liberty of ordering for us both…" Brennan noticed that he gave the waiters a small nod, and when they disappeared she sighed.

"I haven't been called Miss Brennan for a long time," she said. "At least not in a condescending sense. I quite like it…" Booth nodded, pouring a glass of aromatic red wine. She watched as the ruby liquid sloshed against the edge. When she caught the fruity oak scent, she closed her eyes. Better than her South African wine, waiting uncorked at home.

"Cheers," Booth said, lifting his glass. "Happy Birthday." She touched her glass to his. After the first taste, she felt her tensions fade and she permitted herself to enjoy the grandness of his gesture. The waiters, the table, the deck heaters, even the wine. All orchestrated in which a short amount of time. She didn't want to imagine how he pulled it together, or how much it cost. "Temperance…" when he spoke, he realised her eyes were closed, and the whispering sound of his voice startled her. "I know I am pushing the boundaries here… and maybe even crossing the line…" she lifted her hand, pulling it through the air, effectively silencing him.

"I like what you have done," she said, soothing his concerns. "I think it's…" romantic? Lovely? Sweet? "nice…" she deciding, hating how she had understated the value of his gesture. "And lovely of you to care so much." He nodded mutely, interrupted by the two waiters as they returned, placing two plates before them. "Where did you guys come from?" Brennan asked, craning her neck.

"There," Booth pointed over her shoulder, to where a small white washed building sat, right on the cliff edge. "Sid's cousin owns this place. It's a small restaurant and guest house, but the finest." Brennan nodded, looking down at her plate. "This," Booth said, "looks great."

"What is it?" Brennan asked, and the waiters smiled.

"Smoked salmon with caper berries and poached quail's egg," one said. "Enjoy." Brennan waited until the men had retreated before she allowed herself to be impressed by the menu. Recently she'd been spending too much time eating greasy food and take away. Fine dining was often the farthest thing from her mind. Even on her birthday.

After her first forkful of salmon, she moaned in appreciation. "Sid's cousin should open a restaurant in the city," she said. "We need more places like this…" Booth lifted his eyes from his plate, the candlelight fluttering inside its glass jar. The flame reflected a myriad of imagery inside his eyes.

"I think a lighthouse might look somewhat out of place in the middle of DC," he quipped and she chuckled.

"I think _you_ know what I mean," and he nodded.

"I do," he conceded. "And I agree." Brennan caught his eye and for a moment, she thought perhaps he wanted to say something else. But in an instant, it was gone, and he was entirely focused on his plate.

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Smoked salmon was followed by fricassee of corn fed chicken with black trompettes, asparagus and tarragon and their meal was finished with peach parfait and caramelised passion fruit. Brennan was quite certain it was the most delicious meal she had ever eaten, and each mouthful seemed to intoxicate her more than the wine she drank.

When their coffee arrived, Booth told the waiters that they could leave and suddenly, they were alone, and Brennan felt a prickle of anticipation and adolescent nervous inside her stomach. Just earlier this afternoon, she had seen Booth as her partner, one hundred percent, and in just a few hours, she was on what she classed as a date, and surprisingly, she wasn't ready to strangle him.

The first taste of her coffee made her chest warm and she sighed. "Have you had a nice evening, Bones?" Booth asked, reclining back in his chair. She watched how his hand moved when she stirred his coffee. He always stirred for a long time, and she had noticed he spent more time stirring than he did actually drinking the coffee. Knowing that she had noticed these little quirks sent her emotions into a wild spin. Did they know each other better than she had allowed herself to imagine?

"I have, yes," she said, sighing contentedly, turning her eyes to the ocean below. The moonlight reflected half-heartedly on the rippling waves, the round sphere of it half covered by wispy costal clouds. The reflection was bright, the sea acting almost as a mirror, bouncing the light across the shiny black rocks. The ocean was a stage, illuminated by the spotlight above. Brennan missed such sights, living in the city. Pushing her chair back, she stood, shifting close to the deck heater, pressing her body to the railing. "Thank you, Booth," she said, turning her head to look at him. He smiled, lifting his cup to her.

"You're welcome, Brennan," he said and she wished he had called her Temperance. It was a silly thought, and not even slightly appropriate for their relationship – a relationship that she worked hard to ensure never fell apart. She wasn't sure it was a good idea to complicate it with overly romantic thoughts, and knowing that Booth had already crossed a line by even organising the dinner for two, she supposed they'd made too much progress for one night.

"Temperance," she started, surprised to find that he was right at her side, and it was almost as though he had read her mind. She was shocked again by the tender whisper of his voice and how her body responded to it. "I want you to live your life," he said, reaching out to touch her hair. She trembled, inwardly and out. "Your parents disappearing made your life fall apart, and it hurt. But you can't hide behind fear forever." She felt the sting of tears behind her irises and she swallowed hard, willing the emotion and sentiment away. "Every day that you let special moments like this pass by, is another day you have wasted. I don't want you to wake up at seventy five, realising when it's too late, that you missed so, _so _much." His fingers danced over her jaw, along the milky column of her neck. "No matter what you think, spending your birthday reading _Asia – An Anthropological Study _is not fun. Or exciting." It touched her that he remembered the name of the book and more that he cared so much. "You are an extraordinary women… let yourself live once in awhile, hmm?"

Where he touched her, she felt warm and where he did, she wanted him to. "I'll try," she replied, her voice nowhere near as steady as she would have liked. "I was effected by my mother and father disappearing… and sometimes… when I want to feel something… I'm too afraid…" it was strange to think that just moments ago, she had been fretting over their relationship. "I will try," she repeated. "And thank you for all the effort you went to, tonight. No one has ever organised something so special, just for me." His fingers were in her hair, and the tentative, brushing touches to her scalp made every nerve in her body tingle.

"You are special, Bones. And so worth it." If she allowed herself to look beyond the fear, if only for a moment, she knew he was hinting at love. She had known for awhile. But her rational, ever firm grip on anxiety kept her from indulging in her feelings for more than a second. "Temperance?" His voice reigned her wayward thoughts in, and she focused on him. "Let it go." She knew what he meant, and by with the coaxing tone of his voice, she did. She mentally relinquished all her worries and concerns, and smiled. "That's so much better," he said. "Without frown lines here," he drew his fingertips over her forehead, "and creases here," he touched the corners of her eyes, "you look very beautiful." She shifted, encouraged by his kindness. "I know that's not a very original thing to say…" and she shook her head.

"No. But it means a lot when it's genuinely meant." Booth leaned forward, touching his lips to her nose. "I love it here. It's so nice, looking over the world, almost. Do we have to leave, now?" she asked. He watched her face for a long time.

"Well… Sid's cousin owns the guest house and it's just a little walk that way," he gestured to the whitewashed building again. "If you wanted…" she heard the implication and there was a lot of weigh on his suggestion. She was filled with fear again, and it made her nerves tremble. Remembering his words, she inhaled, closed her eyes and gently eased all the fear out of her body.

"Okay," she said at last. "That's a nice idea."

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One more chapter? If you want it, there'll only be one. It's not planned to be a very long story, but let me know.

The menu was taken from James Street South Restaurant in Belfast. It's completely stolen and it's plagiarism of sorts on my part. But the menu sounds love and the restaurant is the finest. I hope you enjoyed this story. Please click the button below and send me your thoughts. I've spent many hours click, click, clicking on this keyboard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **These characters are not mine.

**Rating: **M.

**A/N: **I am so enormously grateful for the reviews given to me for the last chapter! You have all been so kind and full of praise that I was compelled to write this chapter tonight. I know it does not tell you what time I posted this at, but just so you know, I got out of bed at half past midnight to write this. I hope you like…

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She rested her elbows on the railing, a comfortable silence wrapping around her as she listened to the surf one hundred and fifty feet below. She felt as though the world were empty, except for she and Booth and the occupants of the lone guest house in the near distance. It felt private and exclusive. She tilted her head, allowing the breeze to toy with her hair. It had been a lovely birthday, so far. Perhaps the most special of days in her whole adult life.

Behind her, the waiters had returned, clearing the table wordlessly, and only the clatter of crockery interrupted the whispering waves. Next to her, Booth was equally content, his gaze turned towards the two storey building, whose lights cast long, rectangular shapes along the grass. From here, the view of the surrounding land would be spectacular, come morning time.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" one waiter asked, touching her shoulder. Brennan turned, shaking her head.

"No thank you. Everything has been perfect." The deck heaters were off, and so high above the ground, she was suddenly very cold. Crossing her arms over her torso, she rubbed her hands over her biceps. With only her shirt, she was underdressed for an evening atop a lighthouse. Booth slid his arm along her shoulder, drawing her close to his body. She shifted, tucking herself against him, feeling far less uncomfortable than she imagined she would.

"Sir?" the waiter hovered at the doorway, his arms filled with crockery. "The boss has asked that you leave the lighthouse. Weather reports it's going to be a little stormy tonight." Brennan looked at the sky, realising for the first time that the moon had disappeared completely, and where the ocean had been spot-lit earlier, was now a velvet blackness.

"Sure," Booth said, urging her towards the door. "We're on our way down." With a nod, the waiter disappeared, his footfalls sounding through the column of the lighthouse as he descended to the ground, following his colleague. Brennan sighed, taking a last glance at the dark ocean. "Hey, Bones?" Booth said, turning away from the doorway. "We know that when we go downstairs… to the guest house… what's inevitable… right?" She was grateful that there was hardly enough light to illuminate her blush. She nodded. "Okay…" Booth said, encouraged. "Then… it's also inevitable that we're going to kiss…?" She nodded again, feeling a small chuckle rise in her chest at the pure adolescent awkwardness of it. "This seems like a fitting place…" she shuffled forward a few inches, tilting her face toward him, the lovely lines of her face relaxed and smooth. She young, carefree, elegant. Totally Temperance and not at all Dr Brennan. Her breath was soft against his cheeks, scented with coffee and caramelised passion fruit.

He kissed her softly at first, drawing her lower lip between his, tasting the exotic fruit of her skin and drawing the moment into his memory. She inhaled, opening her mouth to him, and he grabbed the incentive with both hands, slipping his arms around her waist and drawing the length of her body against his. Around them, the wind gathered, whipping her hair about their faces – an inconvenience they barely noticed. His tongue massaged hers, teasing her senses, stroking her lips. She sighed, the first sprinkling of fine, icy rain splashing against her shirt. She trembled a little, shifting closer, seeking warmth from him. His hands moved over her spine, to the swell of her ass. She arched forward, her belly brushing the hard, urgent ridge of his penis.

"We should go." she said, as a gust of wind almost rattled the glass. Booth nodded, taking her hand, somewhat disappointed that their kiss had been cut short. "And as far as first kisses go…" she said, as they stepped inside the lighthouse, edging towards the stairs. "I'm definitely not complaining." His grin was idiotic and she chuckled, beginning her descent.

When they reached the bottom of the lighthouse, the rain of was heavy, pounding against the asphalt parking lot, sounding heavy against his SUV in the distance. Brennan paused in the doorway, turning to the wooden memorial stand, detailing information of the structure.

"One hundred and fifty one feet high, two hundred and five steps," she paused, turning to Booth, "those poor men, carrying our food up two hundred steps…" she stepped closer to the plaque. "Beam range of eighteen miles… wow…" she sighed wistfully. "Such beautiful and proud structures… did you know that there's less than one thousand five hundred of these that are actually still used today?" Booth shook his head, slipping his arm around her waist. "Navigation systems have advanced so much, what with GPS, that they are simply no longer needed." His hand slipped under her shirt, stroking over her torso. "You're trying to distract me," she murmured, leaning back into him.

"Hmm…" he murmured in agreement. "Perhaps…" she wriggled back, finding warm solace in his embrace. When she turned in his arms, their chests together, a warmth enveloped her, making her heart swell. Being with him, like this, felt right. "Should we make a move…?" he asked, his lips brushing across her forehead, soft and reassuring.

"Yes," she said. "I'd like to feel my fingers again…" As if to punctuate her point, a cool wind blew inside, rattling the windows again. She chuckled, turning her face towards it, loving the salty coolness of it, and tempestuous and unpredictability of the impending storm. The slanting rain almost hid the guest house entirely and she sank deeper into his embrace.

"You're shivering," he said, his hands moving over her arms. Trembling with anticipation, she drew her fingers through his dark, soft hair, pulling his head down towards hers, their lips touching, cold and flavoured with the coastal sea air. She drew her tongue across the silken flesh, certain that if she could epitomise her perfect moment, it would be tasting the ocean on his lips.

"Lets go," she said, stepping into the rain, her shirt instantly soaked through. The icy raindrops pelted her skin and she felt her teeth chatter as they ran, their hands together, across the parking lot, past his SUV, through the garden gate and along the flower lined path to the guest house. She tapped her knuckles against the heavy wooden door, and listened as inside, feet shuffled towards her. Suddenly she wanted to be inside, eager to discover what lay ahead for she and Booth. He had taken the leap, inviting her for a romantic dinner that could not be interpreted as friendship. It was her turn to show that his feelings were returned.

"Booth?" the man who opened the door looked nothing like Sid, and he had none of the city-streetwise attitude. "Come in." Together they were ushered into the warm, brightly lit hallway. The interior radiated a comfortable luxury that instantly made her bones feel warmer and she sighed, lifting her eyes to the wall lights that cast an amber glow on the floor beneath her feet. "Sid said you might want to stay… too much of the vino?" Booth nodded, unwilling to divulge the truth of their reasons. "I have a lovely suite on the ground floorr. Recently refurbished when we had the lighthouse restored…"

"That's fine," Booth said, raking his fingers through his saturated hair. "We'd like that…" When he had signed his name, Sid's cousin passed a heavy brass key towards them, directing them down the corridor, to the last door. Brennan stood on her toes, careful not to make a sound, as the grandfather clock against the wall chimed half-past midnight. She felt guilty, keeping the proprietor awake so late.

Sliding the key into the lock, Booth waited until the bolt clicked open before he eased the heavy oak door inward, releasing a welcome scent of apples into the hallway. Brennan breathed deeply, luxuriating in the warm air that swept against her skin from the glowing embers in the heavy, black fireplace inside the bedroom. Behind them, Sid's cousin stood at the staircase.

"We keep the fire lit," he explained. "It keeps the cold out…" Booth nodded, his hand falling to the base of her back, encouraging her to enter. She stepped inside, admiring the two armchairs that were turned in toward the fire, the cotton gowns draped on the dark burgundy bedspread and heavy curtains that hid the cliff from her view. She sighed.

"I'm not sure what we're supposed to say," she admitted. "Or how we're meant to begin the inevitable…" Booth eased the door shut with a soft click, turning the key until the lock fell into place. She was effectively trapped inside, with nowhere to go, and she liked it. It was time that she faced the truths of their relationship without seeking a hiding place.

"We don't question it," Booth said. "That's always a good place to begin, Temperance…" she nodded, reaching for the cotton gown. "Get dried. We have all night."

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Booth was obviously contented to let his seduction last all night, for once she had towel dried her hair and slipped into the complimentary robe, he offered her a cup of coffee and asked her to sit with him by the fire. He drew the chairs close together and watched her for a long time, silent and brooding – his features darkly sexy and his eyes just barely twinkled in the dying firelight. She sipped her coffee, a fine Italian blend, listening to the crackle of the coals and the distant whoosh of the ocean.

"Have I said thank you?" she asked, turning her eyes to him. He blinked slowly.

"Several times," he said. "And you are welcome. You're worth it." She sighed, a warm contentment settling against her heart. She hadn't felt so special in such a long time, and it was almost liberating and definitely endearing to be someone other than Dr Brennan for once. She looked at him, not as a crime-fighting FBI agent, but as a man. A man who wanted to worship her.

"Booth," she said at last, setting her cup aside.

"Temperance," he echoed, and their voices sounded almost melodic in their musical whispers. She paused, their eyes meeting in a silent dance, as she explored the inner confines of his mind and he did the same to her. It were almost as though he were reading her, mapping her thoughts. "Lets not…" he said and she understood that he did not want to analyse their feelings. He wanted to take them for granted – something she never allowed herself do.

Shifting forward in her chair, she pulled a deep, apple filled breath into her lungs, and stood. Her fingers worked the tie of her robe, loosening the knot until it fell away. She parted the folds of her gown, exposing her naked flesh beneath. She saw him inhale, hold his breath, and she was encouraged enough to push the gown over her shoulders, where it dropped to the carpet with a soft thump. Temperance had no desire to analyse, either. Too much thought would result in the deepest, saddest regret of her life.

In the firelight, her skin was creamy, her breasts round and heavy, her hips shapely, like a dancer. Her long, slim legs shifted and his eyes meet hers again, his own arousal apparent beneath the robe he wore. He stood too, shedding his clothing and reaching for her as though he wanted to pull her into an erotic dance. She moved close, her slender fingers moving over his sides, and despite the warmth of the fire, gooseflesh rose on his arms and his flat brown nipples hardened. Fascinated, she dropped soft kisses to his shoulder, over his throat, touching the tip of her tongue to his Adam's apple, enthralled by how he swallowed hard against her ministrations. His pulse pounded against her lips and she slid her fingers over his abdomen, and his muscles flexed and tightened, yielding under her touch. She released a breath against his ear, and his lips parted in a soft, urgent sigh.

His hands slid over her ass, along her back, his fingers winding into her hair, the touch erotic and teasing, drawing her nipples into tight, aching points. She bent her head back, offering her throat to his touch, seeking the warm wetness of his lips. He touched the oasis of her clavicle with his tongue, sending a searing warmth, hotter than the burning embers in the hearth, through her body to her womb. She held him tighter, suddenly aware of the raging wind outside the window.

His touches were sensual, slow and easy. He held her as though he were in awe of her, and she felt adored and almost euphoric when his lips touched hers, his fingers curling around her breast, the heel of his palm brushing her nipple. She sighed his name, wanting to feel the hard length of his penis inside her. She wanted to surround the satiny flesh that she felt against her stomach, to know what it felt like to have his body make love to her.

Her hands slid over his penis, drawing a harsh plea from his mouth. She spread a pearly drop over the round, soft head with her thumb, fascinated at how this simple gesture encouraged another drop from within. Each time she circled the tip of him, his thumb flickered against her nipple, and her womb filled with warm wetness that filled the air between them with a sweet, musky scent. She had never been quite so aroused, so urgently anticipating the moment a man was inside her.

Circling his penis entirely, she stroked him, root to tip, watching as his eyes fluttered shut, his eyelashes falling against his cheeks. With each passing stroke, she quickened her pace, her left hand reaching to cup the heavy weight of his balls as they tightened, drawn against him with a frenzied need for release.

He reached for her wrist, his fingers tight as he pulled her hand away. She whimpered at the loss of his touch on her breasts, and her expression was entirely petulant. He pulled her close, merging their mouths together for a hot, open mouthed kiss that drew her tongue against his, filled with an urgent passion that Brennan was quite sure she had never felt before.

Behind her, the fire crackled as the coals split and her skin felt hot, bathed in the orange glow. His hands stroked her, over her back again, reaching her ass, where he cupped her, drawing her body upward, his penis brushing the patch of curls between her legs. She sighed, parting her thighs, wanting nothing more than for him to slip into her.

Taking her hand, he moved towards the bed, and when she sat, he peppered kisses along her shins, over her thighs, carefully avoiding the slick wetness. She spread her legs, offering him a teasing glimpse of the pink, moist flesh. He was quite sure he could not have imagined her to be as eloquently beautiful as she was, her spine arched, her breasts heavy and her nipples tight.

Kneeling between her legs, he eased the tip of himself inside her, slipping his finger into her folds, teasing the hard nub with the top of her finger, surprised at how ready she was. He arched his hips forward, sheathing himself inside her, surrounded by hot silk, her walls tightening around him as he thrust. Her lips murmured his name like a mantra and her thighs created a vice around him, her back arching as she bucked her hips, crazed and urgent, defiant of his wishes to be languid.

"I need you to take me," she begged, her nails digging into his shoulders. He winced, as she drew marks along his arm. With each stroke, his balls tightened further until he felt as though he would explode. She whimpered, soft insistent moans falling from her lips, her breasts swaying as her hips rose and fell, the scent of her stronger than ever. His finger massaged her clitoris, his thrusts filling her, and she mumbled a plea for release. "Harder," she begged, turning until he lay beneath her and she was astride him, her palms pressed to his chest as she rose and fell over his penis, crazed and lost in the fog of euphoria.

She bent to taste his skin, draw in the flavour of their exertions. Leaning back, she offered her breasts to him. He passed the tips of his fingers over her nipples, pinching the hard nubs until she cried out, convulsing around him, her entire body shuddering. His name was a drawn out syllable, spoken as though he were part of a religious chant. Her jaw slack, as though she were entranced. Beautiful enough, was she, that his own release followed, and his hips jerked, burying himself as deep as he could, groaning as hot, semen spilled into her body and he fell against the mattress, exhausted and euphoric, contented in knowing that the extraordinary woman whose weight rested on his hips, was filled with the essence of him.

"God…" he whispered, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her against him. She sighed, their bodies slick.

"Yeah…" she agreed, breathless, the effects of her exhaustion already taking hold of her body. She pressed her cheek to him, her eyes closing. He shifted, prepared to slip out of her body. Her thighs tightened around him. "Not yet," she whispered, her nose pressed against the bottom of his jaw. "Stay…"

He waited until she was asleep, her breathing slowed and soft murmurs rose in her chest, before he slipped from within her, regretting the loss of her soft flesh around him. Drawing the blanket around them, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pressing his chest to her back, breathing in the scent of her hair, her skin, their lovemaking.

Tomorrow, there would be much to answer. But for now, she slept. For now, she wasn't afraid.

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It's almost 3am… now surely that alone warrants some reviews?


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Rating: **M.

**A/N: **I am stunned at how many lovely reviews I got for only two chapters! Here's hoping they will continue!

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Shifting beneath heavy covers, Brennan burrowed her head into the pillow, murmuring in soft delight that she was glad it was Saturday. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to sleep in and as the comfortable warmth of the bed enveloped her, she tucked herself deeper into the blankets, listening to heavy rain rap against the window. After a long moment, she parted her lids, her eyes adjusting to the grey light.

When she remembered it wasn't Saturday at all, she froze. The bedside clock told her it was nine thirty, and she was not in her own bed. Nor was she in the bed of any man she knew. Her mind completed the world's fastest jigsaw, and all the pieces fell together as she recalled the warm interior of the guest house. She dispelled the breath she'd been holding, sitting straight, holding the duvet to her breasts. The mattress beside her was empty, the sheets disturbed where he had been sleeping earlier.

Blinking, she took in the ashes of the fire, no longer burning. Her cheeks, however, were hot as she replayed the events of the previous evening, starting with a forgotten bottle of wine at her apartment and ending on the bed she sat on. She pressed her fingertips to her head, wondering why she didn't feel as though she needed to run. Surely, subsequent to sex with Seeley Booth, she was programmed by default to escape. Wasn't she meant to be afraid?

The door opened, and she saw him, fully dressed in his clothes from the night before, carrying the _Washington Business Journal_, when he looked up from the newspaper, he caught her eye, and smiled. "Good morning," he said, folding the paper in half, dropping it to the armchair she had sat in. "I bet you haven't slept this late in a long time." Brennan raked her fingers through her hair.

"No, I have not," she agreed. "I'm late for work…" Booth sat on the edge of the bed, his hands on her shoulders, easing her body back against the mattress. She willingly followed his lead, reaching up to stroke her fingers along the rough line of his jaw, peppered with day old stubble. He leaned into her, his eyes falling closed as he luxuriated in her touch. "I have to admit," she whispered, "I am some what unfamiliar with what I am meant to say… especially to you…" he opened his eyes again, leaning forward to touch his lips to her forehead. She sighed, knowing that, in the real world, far away from the lovely Virginian countryside, being with Booth, or having any ideas about it, would be wrong. Yet, lying in the big, warm bed, she could do nothing but imagine it. Would every morning be so content?

"We're beyond small talk," he whispered, his hand slipping beneath the covers, his fingers brushing the underside of her breast. Her body was instantly awake, her nipples taut. Her spine curved towards him, her hips rotating small circles on the mattress. "It's okay to be a little shy, though…" she hummed, the sound never moving beyond her throat. "You should call the lab," Booth said, his finger circling her areola, tracing the puckered flesh. She sighed.

"Why?" He kissed her throat, her chin, and finally her mouth, a hard crushing kiss that she was not prepared for. "Aren't we required to vacate the room soon?" she asked, her voice muffled by his lips. He left moist, warm kisses along her chest, taking her nipple into his mouth, replacing the repetitive motion of his finger with his tongue, each movement making her clitoris throb. Her fingers tightened around the sheet, gathering the soft cotton into bunches. His teeth nipped gently, and she moaned, her hand slipping between her thighs, her fingers dipping into the slick wetness of herself. He lifted his eyes to hers, his lips suckling on her as though she would offer him sweet nectar.

"I've extended our stay for one more night," he said. "Think of it as an extended birthday." She ought to have protested. She _ought_ to have protested yesterday, when the whole dangerous charade began. But especially now, when her birthday was over, and there were simply no excuses for lying in bed with him. She had plenty of work to be continuing with, back in DC, where the real world still ticked by.

"One more night…?" she sighed, moaning softly when his fingers joined hers, instantly coated in her wetness. She let him stroke her, her voice a whispered prayer. "Is that because, once we're back in DC, the events which," his name fell from her lips, almost as though the noise emanated from a different mouth, altogether, "occurred here… will be strategically erased from our memories…?" Booth slipped his finger inside her, flexing his joint, stroking the satiny inner walls of her womb. She pulled her lip between her teeth, the plump skin marred by the pressure she applied.

"I hope not," Booth replied, his thumb circling her clitoris. "You're the perfect compliment to me, Bones. Sexually, I can't remember feeling so alive…" she lifted her hand, sinking her fingers into his hair, her nails digging hard against his scalp. He kissed her lips, hard and crushing. "I should hope that, when we are back in DC, you'll always feel as liberated as you did, last night." With his fingers massaging her flesh, touching her body as a master musician might tune an instrument, Brennan was not sure she could refuse him anything.

"I can only try," she whispered, lifting her hips, urging his finger deeper into her body. He bent his finger again, stroking the cushioned flesh and she whimpered, release flooding through her body in shuddering, coursing waves that left her sated, her body weak. "Booth…" she whispered, turning her hooded eyes to him, darkened with arousal, watery with unshed tears of euphoria.

"Shush," he sighed, stroking the backs of his fingers along her rosy cheeks. "You are a million times more beautiful when you don't frown." She smiled, tilting her head, absorbing the delicate warmth of his skin. She caught the scent of soap from his fingers, and breathed in to inhale deeper. Inside her chest, her heart continued to beat like a Celtic drum, so hard she felt the vibrations of it in her stomach, her throat. "Phone Angela, tell her you won't be at work today. She's probably frantic with worry…" Brennan nodded, shifting beneath the duvet. "Take my phone…" He stood, lifting his newspaper from the armchair, where his cell-phone was tucked inside. "And when you're finished, shower, and meet me outside for breakfast." He kissed her nose, smiling when she tilted her face, seeking the warm sweetness of his lips.

"It's raining," she said, her eyes flickering across the room to the window, marred with crystal rivulets of water.

"Just come outside," he urged, tucking his newspaper under his arm, striding across the room. When she was alone, she dialled Angela's number by heart, sagging against the pillows. After two rings, the phone clicked and she heard the bustle of the lab.

"Booth? Have you seen Bren? She hasn't arrived yet…" Smiling, Brennan pressed her fingertips to her cheeks, feeling the hot flush of embarrassment.

"Ange, it's me," she said, closing her eyes, prepared for the interrogation.

"Brennan? Why are you using Booth's phone? Why haven't you answered _your _phone?" Pulling the blanket to her chin, she smiled, enjoying the secret, quite pleased that she was indulging in a forbidden liaison with her partner. It felt illicit – it _was – _but she loved it. Her heart thudded again, giddy with girlish anticipation. In the end, she decided against divulging too much.

"I don't have my phone with me," she explained. "Booth brought me to Virginia to celebrate my birthday." Angela gasped.

"You sneak!" she exclaimed. "You blew off Satin for a night in the country with Booth!" Brennan knew she wasn't upset. "So, how was it? Did he give you enough wine to release all your inhibitions?" Brennan thought of how he stood next to her atop the lighthouse, urging her to free herself of her decade-old fears.

"We talked a lot," she said. "I had an enjoyable time." Angela was quiet for a moment, as if encouraging her to continue. Brennan pressed her open palm to her chest, her fingers resting just over her breast, where she could feel the still-rapid staccato of her heart. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"You're taking a personal day? Are you kidding me?" There was rustling on Angela's end of the phone. "Hey guys!" she called, her mouth turned away from the mouthpiece. "Brennan's taking a personal day!" Temperance felt her cheeks burn as she imagined her colleagues formulating theories.

"No way!" she heard Hodgins exclaim. "Who's sex could be _that _good?" he mused, and she groaned, her voice muffled by her pillow.

"Three guesses," Angela replied.

"Okay, stop!" Brennan said, pushing the duvet off her body. "I'll be back tomorrow and no speculating, okay?" Angela laughed.

"Oh sweetie, I can't make idle promises. Have a lovely day…"

When the line went dead, Brennan swung her legs over the edge of the bed, moving across the room to where her robe was draped now, over the back of the armchair. Slipping into the cotton garment, she made her way to the bathroom, breathlessly delirious as she imagined what physical activities Booth might have arranged for her today.

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Thank, thank, thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews! I am so grateful! And Gayle, I hope you feel better soon!

Night-night everyone!


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Rating: **This one is just a T.

**A/N: **How pleased am I? Pleased as punch. I got so many reviews, my head became terribly inflated and my husband needed to have the doorframe altered. Now it's too big, and I need some more reviews to make my head JUST big enough. Thanks.

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"Isn't this surreal?" Temperance asked, breaking the corner off her croissant, smoothing orange marmalade over the sweet bread. Across the table, Booth glanced at her over his newspaper, a cup of coffee in his hand. Above their heads, rain pelted heavily against the opaque roof of the gazebo, a steady, almost musical beat. She saw his eyes darken, perhaps with adoration, she didn't want to speculate.

"What?" he asked, almost as though he knew perfectly, yet he wanted her to verbalise.

"Having breakfast together as if…" she sucked orange jelly off her fingertip, allowing the zesty flavour to linger on her tongue. "As if we have been doing it for years." She wasn't a woman who indulged in romantic sentiment often. Today, however, she was gluttonous. She'd showered, thinking about him, dressed, thinking about him, and in Temperance Brennan's experience, thinking too much about one thing often resulted in disappointment. Not with Booth. Her delight was tenfold, when she saw him sitting in the gazebo, sheltered by the rain, his eyes calmly, almost erotically following her as she hurried along the garden path to him. "I'm not a prude, Booth, we had sex last night, for the first time, yet I don't feel any of the 'post first time sex' awkwardness." He folded his newspaper, his attention no longer captured by the finance section.

"I like this side of you, Temperance," he said. "In ten years, when we have been doing this forever, I hope you look across the table, and say the same." She blushed, the colour of spring roses, and dropped her eyes to the linen table cloth, her fingertip tracing the white pattern sewn into the material.

"In ten years, I should hope we're beyond first time sex," she murmured, her voice sultry and suggestive. She noticed how his eyes twinkled, lustrous and filled with mischief. "Do you think this will last ten years?" she asked, the realist in her rooted so deeply that she couldn't relinquish it, not even for a day.

"Do you?" Booth asked, filling her coffee cup to the top before replenishing his own. She touched the sticky marmalade again, not quite sure that her giddy nervousness would permit her to eat.

"I asked first," she said, sounding as petulant as she felt. He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, folding his hands over his torso. She remembered, all to vividly, how his hard skin felt beneath her fingertips the night before. A shy tremble shuddered through her body, and she glanced up, meeting his eyes. By the brooding look he gave her, she suspected he had read her expression perfectly. He knew what she was thinking, and Brennan realised just how difficult it would be to disguise her feelings from him. The thought terrified her.

"I hope it lasts," he said eventually, slowly, deliberately. She continued to watch the soft play of his features, and she realised that, even with all the conflict they faced, back in the real world, with Camille, Rebecca and Parker, she hoped they would to. It was an amateur's mistake, really, falling so deeply for someone after just one date.

One date, she mused. In the real world, one date ending in hot, sex in a guest house would make her something of a loose woman. With Booth…? It was inevitable, really. "Me too," she said, pulling the segment of croissant into her mouth, her tongue curling around the jelly again. It tasted bitter, and she loved it. "Is this homemade?" she asked, and Booth smiled, understanding her desire to move away from the sombre, serious talk. She avoided conflict, and she knew it. It felt as though she were exposed when he looked at her, seeing through her.

A long moment passed in companionable silence. At the bottom of the garden, the ocean brushed against the cliff edge with combined whispers that sounded like hushed pleas, and despite the miserable weather, gulls cried, swooping and diving, disappearing beyond the rock, and resurfacing. The rain tapped against the roof above her head, splashing against the plants in the flower bed. The air smelt fresh, filled with a vibrant cleanliness that she could inhale. It cleared her lungs, feeling her body to the bottom of her stomach with pure, unadulterated air. With each long breath, she felt vigorous, prepared to face the challenges of life.

As she drank her coffee, became heavily aware of his eyes on her, sharp and piercing, urging her to look at him. With an unspoken pull, he drew her attention away from the cool rain and the relaxing ambience that surrounded her, touching her like the massaging hand. When she met his gaze, he was looking through her, cataloguing her thoughts in the way only Booth could.

"I think it's going to rain all day," he said, his voice low and gravely, the sound brought a tingle to her spine and she shifted in her chair, surprised at the intensity of her own desire for him. Had she really been so good at ignoring it, until now? "I don't think there's much we can do…" the insinuation was barely veiled, the implication hanging heavily in the air like a carrot before a donkey. Would she reach for it? Would she encourage his blatant sexual invitation?

"I'm sure we can find something," she replied, tilting her body towards him. She had left an extra button undone in her shirt – something she'd been conscious of earlier when she'd been dressing. When his gaze dropped now, she saw him shift, visibly aroused by her. "We can relight the fire," she suggested, picturing the cosy haven of their bedroom, and how he had touched her by the glowing light of the fire – sensual and erotic.

"Which fire?" he asked, leaning forward. She smiled, placid and suggestive.

"Booth…" she whispered, pressing her thighs together, almost worried by the urgency with which she needed him. Hadn't he already made her come once today? "This is crazy…" he nodded, reaching across the table, tracing his fingers over the pale blue veins of her inner wrist, stroking the soft baby skin. Her eyes fell closed, her coffee forgotten.

"Crazy," he agreed. "But God, Bones, if crazy is bad…" she exhaled, her lips parting.

"…you don't want to be right?" she guessed, and he chuckled.

"As terribly trivial as that sounds, yes," he admitted. "But then, I can't see how feeling for you what I feel could be bad. Never bad." Her eyes opened and her heart stilled in her chest. With each movement of his fingers over her wrist, her body responded more, as if the subtle touches were a prelude of what was to come.

"And what would that be…?" she asked. Below, as if nature were signalling a momentous moment, the waves crashed thunderously against the cliffs, so hard that a spray exploded along the garden wall, and she jumped, momentarily stunned by the sudden interruption. Her lips formed a circle of surprise and her eyes widened. Booth turned calmly back toward her, and she saw the words form in his eyes, the three words, so close to slipping off his tongue, and she knew it would be more trivial to speak them now. Suddenly, she didn't want to be told she was loved. She wanted to wait, until they had faced the challenges of DC, their jobs, their partnership. She wanted to be sure that they could endure difficulties outside of their blissful Virginian haven. His lips closed, and the words disappeared almost as quickly as they had formed. All at once _she_ loved _him_ for knowing when was a good time and when was not.

Lacing his fingers with hers, he pushed his chair back. "Come back to the bedroom, Temperance," he said, "and I'll show you exactly how I feel about you."

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Woo! Now, I know this chapter is shorter than the others, but I hope you enjoy it just as much. Next chapter will be M rated, and hopefully completed tomorrow. My shift is from 11am-7pm tomorrow… so tomorrow night maybe. Also, I've just realised that people all over the world now know my rota. Too much information? Maybe, but alas, my life is an open book.

Review!


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **I wouldn't ask for much money from Fox, if they wanted to hire me. I'd be the cheapest writer on their team.

**Rating: **This is an M rated chapter.

**A/N: **Wow! Thanks for all the support. I am really so appreciative of the support that you have showed me. I hope you'll continue to express what you want!

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Sid's cousin was smoking on the porch, his back pressed against the door. As the climbed the steps, Booth's arm comfortably present around her shoulders, the proprietor exhaled a plume of bluish smoke. "Morning," he said, dipping his head. "How you enjoying the coast then? A far cry from the city… hmm…?" Temperance nodded.

"It's certainly different," she agreed, her body brushing close to Booth. "But it's a welcome change." She reached her hand out. "I'm Temperance," she said, and Sid's cousin balanced his cigarette between his lips, extending his hand to her, too.

"Jimmy," he said. "My wife, Gina, she makes me smoke outside." Booth lifted his eyes to the heavy clouds, dark and sombre.

"That must be a bummer on days like today," he said. "Any recommendations on what we could do on a day such as today?" Jimmy dispelled another cloud of smoke, infused with a chesty laugh.

"Booth," he said, "This area of Virginia has the highest population rate, because on days like today, there's only one thing you _can_ do." Brennan felt her eyes widen a little, and she stiffened. Booth's fingers tensed on her shoulder, willing her to remain as impassive as she could. "Seriously though," Jimmy said after another chuckle, "Gina and I set up this place as something of a relaxation spot. City folk like you, probably aren't cut out for a day of doing absolutely nothing." Booth tilted his head back, sucking salty air into his lungs.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, "I think I could probably survive." Brennan nodded as Booth reached across the porch, pushing open the door. A blast of warm air blew out and Jimmy seemed to almost shuffle towards it. Brennan stepped inside, wiping her shoes on the rough bristly mat, turning her eyes to the paintings on the wall. Each signed, G. Tanner, the watercolours depicted scenes of extraordinary beauty along the coast, and one was strikingly similar to the view from the garden. "Must be Jimmy's wife," Booth mused, his hand falling to the base of her spine. Where her shirt had crept up, his fingertips touched he skin, and she was drawn away from the artworks, her attention focused instead on the warmth of his body.

"Angela would be in Heaven, here," she commented as they moved along the corridor, took a corner and arrived at their room. She was already anticipating the warm crackling fire, luxuriating lazily in bed all afternoon.

"I thought you didn't believe in Heaven," Booth said as she dug into her pocket, removing the key. Brennan unlocked the door, mulling over his words.

"Define 'Heaven'," she said, moving across the bedroom, removing her shoes. The room was still comfortably warm, and housekeeping had remade the bed, draping fresh robes over the comforter. The curtains were open, and the view was as breathtaking as Brennan imagined it would be. Behind her, Booth stood against the back of the armchair.

"Heaven is where God lives," he said, sounding like a nine-year-old Church goer. Brennan narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. Wavy auburn strands tossed about her cheeks, and he was momentarily struck by how, even as they knew they would eventually be having sex today, their relationship was still firmly rooted in debate. The knowledge filled him with joy – a kind of joy that was almost clichéd in its intensity.

"Heaven," Brennan said, pulling the drapes across the window, plunging their room into a semi-darkness, "is something purely individual." She crossed the room, kneeling by the fire, gathering kindling into her arms. Booth rounded the chair, kneeling beside her. There was something definitively intimate about their comfortable motions as they built a fire. "Angela's Heaven is painting, art. Mine is culture, worldly experiences. Hodgins…" Booth threw her a sideward glance.

"Women," he finished. "Hot, naked women with massaging oil." Brennan chuckled, striking a match. The area around them was illuminated in a bright, orange glow and he noticed how lovely her eyes were when she smiled. "Although, rumour would have it, and I'm not naming names," he coughed, "Zach," and she giggled, "that Hodgins has the hots for Angela." Brennan shrugged.

"I'm not good at reading people," she reminded him, watching the fire as the flame took hold, spreading across the fireplace. Within moments, the chill of the morning was out of her system and she felt just like she had the night before – comfortable and happy. "What do you think?" she asked, turning her body towards him. His hand slid along her arm, over her bicep, his fingers finding the back of her neck. She inhaled, her breath unsteady, catching in her throat.

"I have the hots for _you_," he said, shifting closer to her. He urged her face to his, their lips meeting in a tentative dance, as though it were their first kiss. She felt a tingling thrill, at the newness of their touches. She was learning about him, what he tasted like, what he felt like when she touched him – when he touched her. Yet, underneath all the unfamiliar newness, Brennan felt as though he were like an old piece of furniture. Shouldn't she have been worried what he thought when her hair wasn't just perfect? Wasn't that what women were supposed to be concerned with?

His fingers massaged her breast through her shirt and she leaned into him, touching his lips with her tongue, tasting coffee there. She felt him sigh against her lips, a soft, reassuring contentedness that made her feel warm inside, too. As his fingers touched her, she felt a sweep of arousal and her between her thighs began to throb, her breasts suddenly heavy. She touched him, his penis hard against the soft curve of her hand. It amazed her that she could arouse such a powerful desire within him that he would be hard after just a kiss. In fact, she believed he was probably hard during their entire conversation.

"Temperance," he whispered against her mouth. She heard the urgency and felt his fingers slip beneath her shirt. She arched her back, leaning into his touch, his thumb circling her nipple through her bra. Brennan lifted her hand, flicking each button of her shirt, parting the folds. Booth leaned back, raking his eyes over her chest, her heavy breasts, tight nipples and his gaze became hooded. "Come here," he said, and she knelt on her knees, his hands slipping along her sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She murmured a whisper, her lips dry.

"Tomorrow…" she began, her throat sounding as though she were almost strangled. He lifted his hand, dropping his finger to her lips.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Tomorrow is then and this," he replaced his finger with his lips, brushing her tongue with his. "is now." Her breasts brushed his chest and he hurried to undress. Her hands slid over his torso, touching the tight bunches of his abdomen, her fingertips lingering over his belly button. She saw him swallow, his tongue slipping over his lips. When he reached for her, she came without question or hesitation, her arms slipping around him, seeking the warmth that he offered – a warmth so different to that of the fire.

When he undressed her, languid and sultry, the only sounds between them were the crackling coals of the fire, and their breaths, deep and slow. He tasted her throat, drawing her natural flavour unto his tongue, swirling around her clavicle. She didn't want to prolong the agony of her own desire, preferring to have him inside her, to feel the unbridled rapture of her body accommodating his size.

She stroked his penis, gathering a drop of his arousal on her thumb. She tasted him, quite certain that it was perhaps the naughtiest, most seductive move she'd ever made. He watched her, his eyes darker than black diamond, with the same lustrous shimmer. The longer she held her thumb between her lips, the darker his gaze became, until his jaw was tight and his muscles were tense. "Temperance," he growled, his hands finding her arms, clutching tight to her biceps. He saw his fingertip had turned her skin white, yet it made no effort to release her. "Crazy…" he whispered, as if awed by their situation. She nodded, a murmur rising in her throat as she pulled her thumb away.

"I'd like you be inside me," she said, resting her weight on his thighs. He felt her wetness his penis brushed the apex of her legs. She was more than ready for him, and the scent of her, combined with the woody fire almost made him dizzy with want. She parted her thighs further and his hands fell to her hips, positioning her body over him. She sank down over him, sheathing him in her molten wetness, and they released a moan together, the sounds of their mutual appreciation were voiced as needy growls.

With each thrust, she murmured his name and his eyes closed as he imagined being inside her forever. He had felt much the same the night before, and he believed it would always be the same. Being inside Temperance Brennan offered him a feeling of rightness. It seemed as though it were exactly where he was meant to be.

She slipped her hand between their bodies, touching herself, one arm wrapped around his shoulder, holding him against her. His tongue touched her earlobe and she tossed her head back, whimpering, her movements frenzied as she sought out the ultimate release. "Umm…" he whispered, "…never want this to end."

His body tensed, and she felt him loose control of his desire. She stiffened, applying pressure to the hard nub between her legs. His embrace around her tightened and her walls clenched around him as she came, dropping an open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder. He tasted of salt and something uniquely Booth.

When she caught her breath, Brennan slipped off his thighs, her muscles aching. Unabashed by her nakedness, she lay back against the rug. He glanced down at her, a fine sheen of perspiration evident on her lovely, rosy skin. "So," she said, draping her arm across her forehead, pulling a breath into her lungs. "About tomorrow…" he sighed, turning his eyes towards the pulsating flames inside the fireplace.

"Yeah," he said, lying next to her, seeking comfort from her body. "About tomorrow…" It were almost as though neither of them truly wanted to approach the subject. Neither wanting to shatter the illusion of perfection that they had created. Inevitably, it was Brennan who sought out the realism of the situation.

"I think," she said slowly, "that we can continue to conduct a professional and stable relationship and when we're not working…" she paused, sweeping her arctic blue gaze over him. "I think we could seriously give this," she smiled, "whatever it is, a shot." He met her eyes. "I told you at breakfast that I hoped we could work something out. I'm a very determined woman." He chuckled, drawing her into his arms.

"Yes," he said. "That you are."

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So, there's Camille and Rebecca to be dealt with in the real world. How's about it, folks? Should I take them back to DC, or leave them eternally in this world of perfection? You tell me. Hit the button.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **None of these characters are mine.

**Rating: **T.

**A/N: **Thanks for the continued support! I am so glad everyone is enjoying my chapters. I won't be posting now until probably Monday evening or maybe Tuesday due to work. But I hope you enjoy this, anyway.

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"Oh," Angela exclaimed, hurrying along the corridor after Brennan as soon as she noticed her friend arrive. "Tell me _everything_." Temperance adjusted a stack of papers beneath her arm, her strides wide and urgent.

"Can I take my coat off first?" she asked dryly, rummaging in her pocket to locate her office key. Behind her, Angela shifted from one foot to the other, almost dancing like an eager puppy. Inwardly, Brennan found her nosiness quite funny. "There's not really much to tell, anyway," she lied.

"That is _so_ you," Angela said, feigning annoyance. "Understating everything – making it out like nothing is a big deal. Sweetie, you were a recluse in Virginia…" Brennan turned, pressing her finger to her lips, urging her friend to lower her tone. Angela was immediately apologetic. "Sorry," she whispered, wincing at the sound of her own voice. "I forgot, the walls have ears. Are we keeping your rural rendezvous a secret, then?" she asked.

Finally getting the door opened, Brennan slipped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of her office as she flicked on the lights, casting her gaze across her belongings, checking that everything was exactly as she had left it. Satisfied that someone with a master-key had not been rummaging through her work, she dropped her files on the desk, unbuttoning her coat. As Angela closed the door, she smiled to herself. "Not a secret," she said at last. "However, I'm not advertising it." She and Booth, on the journey back into DC, had talked idly about how they both needed a change of clothes, how sad it was that work was unavoidably always going to be lingering in the background and eventually they discussed their 'back in DC' strategy. It seemed right to discuss it then, for the sun was shining and the storm was over. It was time to return to normal life, and she felt refreshed, confident about it. "I told him," Brennan said, draping her coat over the back of her chair. Angela sank unto the couch.

"Him?" she asked, as though she just wanted to hear Temperance say who she was sharing a room with in Virginia. Unwilling to waste time, Brennan gave in.

"Booth," she said patiently. "I told _Booth_ that I wasn't going to be sneaking around, stealing moments in closets or anything clichéd like that." Angela chuckled, crossing her legs. Her eyes twinkled, and Brennan knew she was in her sexual innuendo element. "But I'm hardly likely to be announcing eternal love from the rooftops, either." She wasn't the type to become overly dramatic. While her friend might have been bursting at the seams to inform _everyone_ of the new developments in her relationship with Booth, Brennan was more than content to keep her private life private. "For now, though, I need to check my mail." Angela took the hint.

"Alright, sweetie, I'm going. But we'll do lunch… I want all the dirty details." Brennan flicked on her computer, a whirring sound filling her office as the machine sprung to life, awakened from a two day slumber – the longest since she'd taken residence of the office. "When is your next dirty weekend?" Brennan sighed, dropping into her chair with a heavy thud.

"We weren't away over the weekend," she said, "and we have no plans to do so, either. Booth and I," speaking as though they were lovers was almost surreal, and she paused, letting the combination of their names, joined together in an altogether different context, linger. "Booth and I," she repeated, "are more than willing to move through this new territory slowly. We have no rush." Angela pressed down on the door handle, her hip against the frame.

"No rush?" she asked, as though not altogether convinced.

"No rush," Brennan confirmed with a definite nod. "Our time in the guest house was blissful, but I have a job and a career that I'm not going to put on hold for a new found relationship. What we have is… comfortable." Angela wrinkled her nose, opening the door now, hovering between the office and the corridor. Brennan sensed that she would stay as long as she could, pillaging information.

"Comfortable is a synonym for boring," she said. "It's the polite way of saying that something has gone stale." Brennan clicked her tongue, shaking her head.

"No," she said, "comfortable, by definition, means that our relationship is devoid of awkwardness. That we are secure in the knowledge that we don't need to turn companionship into something that it is not." Angela dropped her hand to her hip.

"And what is it not, then?" she asked. "Passionate?" Brennan felt heat rise on her cheekbones, and she shrugged. "I knew it would be. There was no point denying it. Don't you want it to turn into something grand? A whirlwind romance?" Temperance typed her password, listening as the computer chimed the trademark Microsoft tune, and loaded.

"I don't believe in whirlwind romances. They don't last, despite what people might say. I'll stick with comfortable, thanks." Angela huffed in frustration, knowing instinctively that she wasn't going to get anywhere with her friend, especially not where impulsive emotions were concerned.

"Fine," she said. "But if he does something crazy, like propose to you in two weeks, you better accept." Brennan laughed.

"You're insane, Ange."

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"Temperance Brennan, our colleague, is actually sticking this out and _not_ running for the hills?" Hodgins poured steaming water of green tea, shaking his head. "Has Jupiter come into funny alignment this week?" Angela whacked his arm with her sketchbook, smiling anyway.

"As unbelievable as it may sound, yes. She's actually 'taking it slow'. Her words, not mine. Me? Personally I'd rather be whipped into a rollercoaster frenzy, tossed about like God-knows-what, never quite sure when the exhilaration is going to stop." Hodgins cradled his cup between his hands.

"Jeez, Angela, you make your relationships sound like an orgy." She winked at him, and he smiled. "I think I understand what she means, though. Wouldn't you want to savour each moment, if you thought something was for real? I mean, whirlwind romances exist purely when you're afraid time is of the element. Taking it slow is a sign that… well… she thinks he's for keeps." Angela dropped her chin to her palm, contemplating his words. "What this tells me is, Brennan's imagining something long term and you," his eyes met hers, "you've never had anything that lasts forever." Angela made a face.

"Ick. Love lasts only as long as there's money on his credit card." Hodgins chuckled.

"Lucky about my black American Express card, then," he said and she frowned. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he removed his wallet. She watched as he removed the small plastic card, passing it across the table to her. "No credit limit," he whispered as though it were a secret. "And for that, baby, love lasts forever."

"Am I interrupting a party?" They both spun, finding Camille at the top of the stairs, watching them with blatant curiosity. Jack dropped his hand to the counter, slipping his credit card back into his pocket. If Camille Saroyan knew he was in fact superior to even her, she would probably be more than just a little inconvenienced.

"Parties? A work? No way," he said. Camille frowned.

"Where's Dr Brennan been?" she asked, her eyes shifting towards Brennan's office door, tightly shut. She'd been inside all morning, catching up on emails, reports and telephone calls. Every time Angela peaked inside, she had her head bowed, and her forehead was creased with concentration.

"She's been away?" Angela asked, feigning ignorance. Hodgins squeezed his eyes shut, mentally preparing himself for Camille's disbelief.

"Oh come on," she said, "Brennan works every day, including Sundays sometimes, and she's been away from the office for the longest amount of time in her entire career. Has she found a man?" When neither Jack nor Angela denied it, Camille smirked a little. "It's about time. That woman needed to get some." Angela grinned, slipping her pencil into her hair.

"I know!" she exclaimed. "You were rooting for them, too? I have to say, Dr Saroyan, I thought you'd be the last person to be on the Bee-Bee band-wagon." Camille frowned.

"The _what_?" she asked. Behind her, Zach climbed the stairs, carrying a cup of tomato soup.

"You know," he said, "The Bee-Bee wagon. It's Angela's affectionate name for those who root for Brennan and Booth. Needless to say, Angela's life is somewhat empty in the relationship department, so she projects her frustrations unto others." Camille's eyes darkened and she shifted, her hand resting on her hip. "So is it confirmed then?" Zach asked, stirring the thick creamy soup. Angela nodded.

"I think so. Apparently they're not advertising it – but they _so_ did it." Hodgins nudged her as Camille spun, swiping her card as she descended the stairs. Angela frowned.

"I don't think Dr Saroyan is a member of your group, Ange," he said. "And I think you've just made things _very_ difficult for Brennan."

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A little bit of a Squint-centic chapter. Booth will be back in the next chapter. And there'll be hell to pay, now that Cam knows what's going on. Let the games begin!


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **None of the characters in this chapter belong to me.

**Rating: **T.

**A/N: **Well, it's Tuesday and I am back as promised. I almost wrote this last night, but my 5am start wrecked me. Please review!

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Camille Saroyan had fought her way up the professional ladder, a determined woman, fighting gender discrimination from doctors of the old school, proving herself to a father who thought she should focus her attentions on finding a man, settling down and having children. She had never lost because she had never given up. Her mother raised her to be strong, to fight for what she wanted and to never, ever like anyone encroach on her territory.

As she tidied away the medical bay, washing her hands in disinfectant soap, the kind that made her hands dry and caused her to spend extortionate amounts of money on hand lotions to replace what intensive scrubbing took away, Camille thought about what Angela had revealed earlier, and she questioned why she felt as though Temperance Brennan had plunged a knife into her back. They might not have been friends, but Camille thought there might have been an understanding, of sorts, that she and Seeley had a past.

Thirty minutes ago, she'd seen him arrive. He had barely glanced at anyone, and not for long enough to break his stride as he made his way to her office. Booth had always been a determined man – a man with a resolve, and when he had somewhere he wanted to be, damned nobody was going to stop him. Earlier, he wanted to be in Brennan's office, and Camille imagined it wasn't to talk sex, either. Booth had a case, and it took priority. A man with morals. She always liked that about him. Brennan was like that, too. Her work took precedence and in a way, Camille thought they were well suited. If it weren't for her inability to stop thinking about him, she probably would have been fine about their pairing.

Camille turned off the faucet, drying her hands. Glancing at the clock, she counted that she had two hours left before she could go home without it being painfully obvious that Angela's foolish admission was bugging her. All afternoon, images of Brennan and Booth together had weighed heavily on her mind. Was it mere speculation?

As she made her way along the corridor, her determination not to lose him intensified and she paused at Brennan's door, tapping her knuckles to the glass. Inside, their heads turned, and their conversation stopped as she stepped into the office, watching them, gauging their guilt. "Dr Brennan," she said, dipping her head in polite courtesy. "May I have a private word, please?" Booth shifted, his tall presence dominating the room.

"What's this about, Camille?" he asked, his hand on his hip. Brennan leaned back in her chair, folding her hands atop her belly, crossing her legs. She looked coolly impassive, unbothered. It seemed authority far from intimidated her.

"Could you give us a moment, Booth?" she said, and Camille understood that Temperance did not need anyone to protect her, even if Booth was inclined to do so. He glanced at her, a protest forming on his lips. Brennan's blue eyes were firm, unyielding and after a long moment, he strode past Camille, his macho arrogance always neutralised by Brennan's fierce mannerism of control. When the door clicked shut, she slid her chair closer to the desk, turning away from Camille. "What can I do for you, Dr Saroyan?" she asked, flicking through a stack of lab reports.

Camille moved across the office, hands in her pockets, her shoulders back. Everyone else in the lab seemed to have some sense of authority but Brennan, she was in a league all of her own, where she believed in her own invincibility. It irritated her, made her stomach tight, simply because she had put so much effort into being the best in her field, and Temperance Brennan had no respect for that.

"I've been hearing rumours around the lab," Camille said, stopping at the foot of Brennan's desk. She barely looked up, her hair covering curtaining her icy blue eyes. "Rumours regarding the professional status of your relationship with Agent Booth…" she let the implication linger for optimum effect, yet Brennan barely stiffened. Instead, she offered a sardonic laugh.

"I hardly see how that's any of _your _business, Dr Saroyan," she said, striking a line through her report. She hardly seemed distracted, her work focus unwavering.

"I imagine it'll effect your work ethic," Camille said, her tone firm. Brennan sighed as though she were bored, dropping her pen to the desk, leaning back again.

"It didn't effect your work ethic when you were sleeping with him, did it?" she asked. "Sex is _just_ sex, and what happens between Booth and I when I step outside of this lab, is nothing to do with you." Camille's jaw tightened, her spine stiff. She hated to be outsmarted by the woman who had no understanding of what was acceptable and what was not. It seemed that she had no concept of intruding on someone else's territory and apparently, she did not care, either.

"I could make this difficult for you, Dr Brennan," she said, dropping her palms to Brennan's desk, leaning over, gaining power over the situation. There was no hint of fear struck into Temperance's eyes.

"Yes," she said, "but that wouldn't be very professional, would it?" Turning back to her work, Brennan struck another line through her report. "Send Booth back in when you're leaving, please." She waited until she heard the door slam before she allowed herself to show any emotion. Her cheeks flared red with a mixture of irritation and anger, and she knew if Camille had stood at her desk for another moment, she might have relinquished all her control.

"Bones?" she heard Booth's voice and willed herself to be calm. "What did Cam want?" Remaining impassive and calm, she smiled.

"Just an interoffice relationship pep-talk." She saw Booth's jaw clenched and pushed a chuckle through her chest. "Don't worry about it," she said. "It was going to get out eventually, wasn't it?" He hadn't touched her all day, forcing their relationship to be completely professional, and to think that already the people of the Jeffersonian were talking about them, examining them, bothered him.

"What did she say?" he asked, resting against the edge of her desk. She thought about telling him. Explaining how Camille took pleasure in her threat, and how it was painfully obvious that she was jealous. Yet she wanted to keep some sense of normality within the lab.

"She wished us luck," Brennan said, nodding her head. "Reminded me to keep it low key." Booth sighed heavily with relief, and Brennan felt guilty for her lies.

"Thank God," he said. "I thought she'd come in here to lay down the Camille Saroyan law." Brennan shook her head slowly, praying at the truth wasn't blaringly obvious in her eyes. Booth rubbed his hands together. "Well, that's a relief. At least it's out in the open now, huh? We're not going to be stealing those closet kisses after all." Brennan smirked a little.

"I wasn't going to anyway, remember?" she said. "We're not children, we're adults. And adults have to work, Booth, so on that note, can you please leave now?" His eyes narrowed, but he continued to smile anyway.

"Don't let mind blowing sex distract you from what you want to say," he joked, already moving towards the door. "I'll drop by Cam's office on the way out, thank her for her support." Brennan felt her shoulders tighten, and she nodded stiffly. "Dinner tonight?" he asked.

"Not tonight," she said. "Maybe tomorrow?" She wondered how difficult Camille would make their relationship. She imagined that each moment they spent together would be closely monitored. Camille had the ability to put their partnership in jeopardy. The look in her eyes had assured Brennan that she wouldn't hesitate, if she didn't get what she wanted. Booth was clearly confused by her cold-shoulder. "I have loads to catch up on," she briskly explained. "But I'll be free tomorrow." Booth sighed.

"I have Parker tomorrow but you're welcome to join us." She toyed with her pen.

"We'll see," she nodded. "Talk soon."

When he was gone, she felt her stomach tighten. She had anticipated protests, disbelief and even some disapproval, but she had not expected anyone to come so viciously between them. Camille wanted to ruin what was only a budding relationship. She had not, even for a moment, suspected such cruelty, even though she had never warmed to her boss.

Thinking of Booth, she sighed. It had felt great, for the few days they were in Virginia. She had believed it could work, but under the harsh florescent lights of the lab, the truth was painted far differently than it was in candlelight. Work and their professions could easily be managed with a relationship, but with Camille determined to destroy their partnership, Brennan knew that she and Booth would inevitably always put that first.

And she suspected their first dinner as a couple in DC would never come.

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…The road ahead may be rocky for our duo.

Review!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters, sorry.

**Rating: **T

**A/N: **Hi there, I'm back. Another chapter, and maybe one tomorrow, too. I'm off to bed, early start tomorrow. But if you guys are awake and reading, please review!

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Dr Daniel Goodman had barely paused for breath all afternoon, stopping only for a cup of espresso at noon, he felt tired, and the thought of missing his daughters' bedtime again made his shoulders feel heavier still. The sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting a pale yellow glow across his office floor, slanting towards his desk. Beside him, a pile of reports kept him numbly aware of how much work he still needed to do.

Sighing, he pinched the top of his nose and picked up the telephone. His wife answered in three rings.

"It's alright, Daniel," she said by way of answer, "I know." He felt immediately bad, yet all his planned apologises fell away, for there was no way to remedy the situation. His children had been asking for him all week, and so far, they'd seen him only once.

"I'll be home at ten," he promised, knowing that it would be at least eleven. She hummed, disbelieving him completely. "Love you," Goodman said, and his wife sighed, impatience mixing with her inability to be anything but understanding.

"I love you, too," she said, replacing the handset. Goodman massaged his temples, opening a manila folder of archaeology photographs from China. The images barely held the same appeal as they used too, and the excitement was gone. His marriage was suffering, and he'd become obsessed with his work, rather than going home at night. And now – now he just missed his family.

He heard the knock against his door and prayed someone wasn't bringing him more work complete, another problem to solve. Recently, he'd contended with enough Jeffersonian related issues that he felt he'd aged ten years in just a few short months. He'd been unable to spend time with any one department, shifting between one and another.

"Come in," he called, closing his folder. The door swung open, and Dr Saroyan stepped in, dressed in a black suit, her hair pulled back from her face. He had spoken with her only a few times since he'd appointed her as head of the forensic team. She was firm, perhaps too much so, but he deemed her capable. She never came to him, asking how to handle difficult situations. She had eased the pressure from his shoulders, albeit only slightly.

"Dr Goodman," she said by way of greeting. "May I say down?" He gestured to the chair facing his desk, the pressure of his headache intensifying slightly. His expression did not change, however.

"Certainly Camille," he said, "what can I do for you?" She crossed her legs, sighing as though the weight of the world rested upon her shoulders.

"I want to talk to you about Dr Brennan," she said. Goodman knew he should have remained impassive, but the mere mention of Temperance's name was enough to strike terror into his soul. Most people knew and understood how difficult she was to handle sometimes, and Dr Saroyan was learning quickly. "I am somewhat concerned…" she tilted her head, and she certainly looked troubled.

"Is she sick?" he asked, and Camille shook her head.

"No," she said. "From what I understand, when you gave me this job, I was enlisted to ensure the integrity of the Jeffersonian was not compromised, is that correct?" Goodman nodded.

"That's right, Dr Saroyan. Has Temperance done something to compromise our integrity?" Camille leaned forward, as though she wanted to disclose some terrible secret.

"She and Booth are sleeping together," she said, and Daniel blinked, unsure of what he ought to say. "I understand that you might think this inappropriate of me, and I agree, it's not usually something I would meddle in," Goodman leaned back, putting space between them. "However, the jobs that Brennan and Booth do are vitally important, not just to the Jeffersonian, but to the FBI. If their relationship were to interfere with their job, I dread to think of what might happen to the agreement you have with Deputy Director Cullen," she sighed. "I would like to suggest that you make a recommendation to the FBI directly… for I cannot imagine how this could possibly work." Goodman blinked, mulling over her words. He had tremendous respect for how this woman had stepped into the Jeffersonian with the intentions of maintaining their high standard.

"I'll certainly take this under advisement," he said. "Thank you for coming, Camille." As she left, he scrawled _Brennan, FBI, _and went back to his work, filing his recent problem as just another thing on his list of things to do.

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She heard her apartment door slam and she jumped, smoothing her hands over her thighs. Brennan had been nervous all afternoon, waiting until she had to tell Booth that their relationship was better put on hold for awhile. When he appeared in the doorway, his shoulders heavy and his jaw tight, she knew she had not picked the best time.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. He shed his jacket, pulling his tie from his throat. Brennan saw the swear rise in his throat, before he shook his head, tossing his jacket. She caught it, inhaling slowly. "Well," she said, "what's wrong?"

"I've just had a meeting with Cullen," he snapped, pressing his palm to the wall. She watched as he paced for a moment, the hard lines of his back even firmer when he was irritated. She should have been ashamed of herself, but she wanted to touch him, feel his muscles move beneath her fingertips, and for a moment, she was distracted. "Bones?" She blinked, smoothing his jacket. "And you'll never believe who called him…" she swallowed, hating that something was on his mind. Hating that she had been planning a talk, and that her plans had been interrupted by some inconvenient meeting with Cullen.

"No…probably not…" she agreed, taking a tentative step towards him. "Are you going to tell me?" Booth sighed, his forehead against the wall now. He shifted from one foot to another, a growl rising in place of the numerous swear words.

"Cullen got a call from Goodman," he said, as if this explained everything. "And Goodman has made a recommendation…" Brennan felt sure, suddenly, that Booth's mood concerned her, too.

"What kind of a recommendation?" she asked, dropping her hand to his shoulder. The muscles tightened there, and he turned, his dark brooding eyes boring into hers. She should have felt frightened at the intensity that she saw there, but when he looked through her, she felt a sense of arousal that took precedence over everything.

"That you and I be 'temporarily' placed on other projects." Her eyes narrowed, and her fingers curled into tight fists. "We're… not partners anymore." He could have said anything to her, called her names, told her that he didn't want to be with her anymore, but telling her that their professional relationship, the foundations of everything, had been torn apart, broke her heart. She felt as though she'd been abandoned all over again, and as she stood there, she was lost. "Temperance…?" he reached out to touch her, but she was frozen, her eyes wide.

"Camille," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't think she would…" Booth folded his arms, lifting his chin.

"What do you mean, Bones?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. She turned her back, moving slowly towards the living room, as though too shocked to move normally. He followed behind, his strides wide and determined. It took only two steps before he was next to her, his fingers tight around her upper arms. "What's Cam got to do with this?" he asked.

"Dr Saroyan wasn't as supportive as I first made out…" she whispered, sinking to the sofa. "I was going to…" Brennan cleared her throat, lifting her eyes to him. "I was going to suggest that we… put the lighthouse, Virginia, all that behind us and just…" he blinked, his long lashes touching his cheeks and he seemed to move in slow motion, shaking his head.

"No way," he said, cutting her short. "No way." Brennan sighed, cupping her knees with her fingers, squeezing tight, hoping that if she closed her eyes for long enough, the day could begin again and she could handle Camille in a less determined manner. She would be understanding, conversational, try to appease her instead of showering the woman with cool detachment. "Temperance," Booth said, his voice hard and firm. She opened her eyes again, looking up at him. "No."

"Booth…" he knelt before her. "We've done so much together…" he leaned forward, touching his lips to hers, slipping his fingers into her hair. She sighed, taking his face in her hands, feeling the prickly scratch of his stubble. The remainder of her sentence was dispelled as heavy sigh, and he parted her lips, slipping his tongue into her mouth. She had so many words forming in her mind, and yet she was unable to speak, drawn into the magical world of passion that he had created with his touch.

"I don't want to talk about 'forgetting' about anything," he whispered, his fingers curling around her breast. She arched her spine, pressing herself further into his touch. "I'm not going to forget about any of it," he assured her, his free hand slipping under her shirt, moving over her the smooth expanse of her spine.

"What about our job…?" she whispered, stroking his lip with her tongue.

"We'll work it out," he promised. "Now I've touched you… there's no way I'm going back…" she leaned into him.

"That's not only your choice to make." He held her closer, his breath hot against her ear.

"Tell me you don't want me, Temperance…" she trembled, hating that she couldn't help but put her emotional instincts first. She should have been focused first and foremost with her job, about the effort she'd put into making their partnership a success, but instead, she wanted to be touched, to feel loved. She'd spent her whole life focused on school, university, work…

"Booth…" she sighed.

"Say it, Temperance," he replied, peppering kisses along her jaw.

"I can't…" she whimpered and in that moment, she realised that she'd summed up their relationship. Tomorrow, when the new work day began, they'd be forced to deal with the aftermath of Goodman's recommendation, but for now, she needed him.

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She loves him too much to leave him, sorry…

If you were looking for prolonged angst, then I must apologise.

Please review.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters.

**Rating: **This one is an M.

**A/N: **Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews. I have been so pleased with the response to this. I hope you will continue to enjoy – especially my little piece of exhibitionism in this one.

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He wore a dark grey t-shirt and jeans – a casual look that she was sure she could easily become accustomed to. Cradling a cup of coffee in a Jeffersonian mug, his eyes were dark and distracted, his gaze ravaging the laboratory as he searched for Camille, seeking to vent his anger on her. She had been curiously absent all afternoon, and Temperance had the distinct feeling that she was purposely staying away. All notions that Brennan had of giving Dr Saroyan what she wanted had been strategically coaxed away the night before by Booth.

"This is all my fault…" Angela moaned, burying her head in her hands. "I thought she knew…" Booth leaned against the steel gurney, his legs crossed at the ankles. Brennan ran her gaze along his legs, over the solid muscles of his thighs, to the subtle bulge between his legs. She hated that she was more aware of him, yet the tingle of her skin made her almost euphoric.

"It is, kind of," Booth agreed, sipping his coffee. Angela shot him a look, and he shrugged. "Well it is," he sighed. "It's going to take _forever_ to actually make anyone believe we're capable of doing this," he gestured to the space between his body and Brennan's, "and _this_," he finished, gesturing now, to the lab. "Work and play, in the FBI's eyes, to not to hand in hand." Brennan watched him trail his fingers through his hair, digging his scalp. "Has anyone seen Camille?" he asked, placing his cup on the counter. Brennan dropped her hand to his arm, her fingers pressed firmly against his bicep. "I'd like to speak with her," he almost whispered, turning his body away from the others. "I can't imagine what possessed her to do this…"

"Agent Booth?" together, they turned, finding Dr Goodman at the top of the steps, his arms folded. "I didn't expect to see you here. How are you…?" His eyes shifted between them, quizzical, and suspicious. Brennan slipped her hands into her pockets, her feet shifting. The last thing she wanted to do today was answer awkward questions about her relationship – simply because she felt certain it was no one else's business.

Booth stepped forward. "I'm sure you didn't," he said, his tone hard and firm. "I was just here to finish off some case reports, tie up some loose ends. Since," his eyes shifted to Brennan, "Temperance and I will be working indirectly with one and other now, we felt it best to ensure all our outstanding reports were signed off." Goodman sighed, lifting his palms.

"I apologise," he said, "and I understand your frustrations, Booth," he said. It was Temperance who moved forward, her shoulders pushed back, her chin held high indignantly.

"I thought you were my friend," she said, sounding rather petulant. "Why didn't you request a meeting? Why go straight to Cullen?" Goodman rocked backward, lifting his eyes to the metal structure above his head.

"You have to _understand_ Temperance, I do not have time to play mediate these office dilemmas. In the Jeffersonian there are more departments than just anthropology…" he sighed, his expression telling of his guilt. "I am sorry, but I am obliged to act upon professional recommendations. As director of this inst…" Booth shook his head.

"You know, it doesn't even matter," he said, his tone decisive. "Sooner or later, you'll need to put us back together. It's inevitable. We're the best." To anyone else, Brennan knew he would have sounded egotistical, placing too much credence in his own abilities. But the truth was, their success rate was high, and their partnership was solid – forged by trust and respect. They were efficient, logical, and productive. Goodman blinked. "And I don't believe your hands are tied," Booth added. "You're focused only on the reputation of your institution, so much so that you'd give Dr Saroyan a job instead of Brennan and separate a perfectly functional partnership out of fear of… what…?" he shrugged, shaking his head.

"I don't believe Dr Goodman is under obligation to explain himself to anyone," everyone turned to where Camille stood, briefcase in hand. Her hair had been pulled back from her face, looped neatly at the nape of her neck. She swept her gaze across the platform. "I made the recommendation," she said. "Based purely on what _I_ deem best for this department." Hodgins slipped his gloves from his hands, tossing them aside.

"Is she the reason for what you said, Angela?" he asked, and Angela shook her head, slowly.

"No," she whispered, her voice a low hiss. "It would be better if we discussed _that_ another time." Camille raised an eyebrow, turning back to Goodman.

"I'm prepared to face the consequences of my actions," she said slowly, "and if looking out for the best interests of this department will make me enemies, I'm not sure I want us to be friends." Booth stepped forward, moving away from the crowd. He took her elbow, directing her roughly towards the entrance. He swiped his card, and she shook him free. "Excuse _me_," she hissed, turning to glare. "Careful where you put your hands, Seeley," she snapped.

"You're looking out for no one's best interests but your own," he whispered, his voice hoarse as he stepped outside of the building, a blustery wind whipping at his bare arms. "You need to stop this, Cam," she blinked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's immature and petulant and personally, I imagined you were above this kind of game." Her eyes flew to his.

"Work, Booth," she said slowly. "I'm interested only in maintaining a high standard within the Jeffersonian. That's what I am paid to do." She stepped away from him. "It's got nothing to do with you. And to think it is, well, that's just egotistical on your part, isn't it, Booth?" She strode towards the doors, her back stiff and her spine straight.

"Good," he called after her, his fingers hooked into his belt. "Because what I feel for her goes far beyond any consideration I'll ever have for this institution. Or the FBI." Camille stopped, watching the forensic department through the glass. Goodman was gone and Brennan was talking to Angela, her shoulders slumped, her lab coat unbuttoned as she toyed idly with her necklace. "And if you _are_ playing a game, it isn't going work." She cleared her throat, striding on, the doors breezing open as she left him outside. As she continued on around the platform, Brennan and Angela were silenced, turning towards the doors. Brennan caught his eye, her silent question speaking volumes as her fingertips touched the sunstone beads of her necklace.

He shook his head, and she swiped her card, descending the stairs, coming towards him. He felt cold, knowing that he probably had not helped the situation by antagonizing Camille further, get he was inexplicably defensive when it came to Brennan and he felt as though he was obliged to defend his feelings. She stood before him, her aquamarine eyes filled with unspoken words. He slipped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against his chest, despite knowing he shouldn't show such blatant affection towards her. "It'll be alright," he promised. "Sooner or later, they'll realise they've made a mistake." Brennan shifted against him, pressing her cheek deeper into his chest. He smelt of her soap that he'd used in the morning, a mixture of tea tree and pine. "They have to." His fingers moved over her spine, and she tilted her hips towards him, brushing his crotch. "I shouldn't be…" he sighed, knowing that his arousal went against everything they were trying to prove.

"I know," she agreed, shaking her head, circling her hips against his anyway. "I'll be finished about six tonight," she told him, her arms slipping around him. "Do you want to come by?" He nodded against her hair, his lips skimming her brow.

"That would be nice," he whispered, kissing her temple. "I'll see you then." When he released her, her arms felt empty and she wished they had never climbed from bed at all that morning. Each minute he wasn't touching her was another moment she was distracted by her desire to be touched. "Do you want me to bring anything?" he asked, digging into his pockets for his keys. Brennan shrugged. "Food? Some wine?"

"Whatever you like," she said, turning away from him.

"Temperance," he called, looping his key over his finger. "I'll miss you." Her heart swelled, for she had not been told for so many years that she'd be missed. Not by anyone. It made her painfully aware of her own feelings and how much he meant to her.

"I know," she said, still too afraid to admit to him how important he was. "I'll see you tonight."

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Temperance suspected that there would be tension in the lab, but she was not prepared for the chilliness that blanketed everyone, casting a sombre mood throughout every crevice of the building. All afternoon she'd stayed in her office, preferring not to ensure the hostility between Angela and Hodgins, she and Goodman and she and Camille. It felt as though they were high-school children, stuck in some petty game.

As she slid her key into the lock, she started, a strong pair of arms slipping around her waist, pressing her body against the door. She felt his hot breath against her neck, and she tilted her head, offering her flesh to him. His moist lips found her earlobe, and he suckled there, his hips pressed against her ass. She sighed, feeling his hands on her hips, drawing her back towards him. She ground against his body, her head dropping back against his shoulder. His fingers found her breasts, his hands kneading her flesh, and beneath his palms, her nipples hardened. She felt the worries of her day wash away under his ministrations, and as one hand slip into her bra, stroking her naked skin, she murmured his name, quite sure that such activities were considered indecent in the hallway.

His thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple, bringing the hard nub to a tight point, puckered and urgently pressing. She sighed, her lips brushing his jaw, her tongue tasting the rough stubble she felt there, and his free hand slipped into her pants. "I've wanted you all day," he whispered, his fingers touching her folds through her panties. She bucked into his touch, so easily manipulated by what he could do to her. The night before, he had soothed away all her worries, bringing her to climax three times before allowing her to sleep. When he stopped, she was unconscious within minutes, her body fatigued. Now, as his fingers slipped into her panties, parting her folds, stroking her clitoris, bringing a new wave of warm wetness. Somewhere down the hall and around the corner, Brennan heard a door slam and she jerked. His finger suddenly poised at her entrance.

She lifted her body, her fingers clenching his hair tightly, her lips parted as she offered breathy encouragements. With her other hand, Brennan flicked open her button, circling her own clitoris while his fingers slid into her body, stretching her muscles as she rocked against his hand. "This is so bad…" she whispered, his index finger curling inside her, pressing against her spongy inner walls until she bit out a harsh cry, her teeth biting hard against her lip. She tasted the metallic flavour of blood on her tongue and when she turned her head, his mouth was on hers, stroking the crevices of her mouth while his fingers, combined with hers, brought her higher and higher, urging her towards climax. His tongue soothed away her infliction and her hips began circling, round and round to a rhythm created by his strokes.

When he stroked faster, she tensed, clenching her muscles around his fingers, waves of intense pleasure flooding her womb. He pressed the pads of his fingers against her walls and she cried out, biting hard on his lips now, too. His arm tightened around her, holding her against his chest, urging her orgasm on.

Her limbs felt like liquid when he removed his hand from her pants, his fingers covered in her warm nectar. She caught the scent of herself, heady and prominent, lingering in the hallway. She smelt sex, and it excited her further. Turning in his arms, she pressed her mouth to his. "Is this a prelude?" she asked, sounding hopeful. He smiled, dropping a kiss to her nose.

"Well," he whispered, touching his fingers to his lips, tracing his tongue where her wetness and touched, "where my fingers just were, I want my mouth to be." She visibly trembled, brushing her breasts against his chest. "Open the door, Temperance," he ordered, his eyes suddenly dark with desire.

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	10. Chapter 10

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **These characters are not mine.

**Rating: **T

**A/N: **Thanks for all your support. I love everyone who takes the time to tell me what they think.

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His phone buzzed in the distant recesses of his slumbered mind, and next to him, she hummed in her sleep, her fingers dancing easily over the valleys of his muscles. He twitched, searchingly blindly for his phone, willing the incessant noise, tantamount of that of a chirping cricket, to stop.

"Booth," he barked grumpily into the receiver, turning his cheek towards her hair, seeking out her warmth. Tucked into the nook of his arm, Temperance snuggled her nose deeper, her forehead creasing in frustration.

"Will you meet with me?" Camille whispered, her voice urgent and troubled. He opened one eye, peering at the red neon clock on Brennan's bedside table. 2.15am. He shifted, slipping from beneath her weight, pulling the under sheet around his naked body. On the mattress, Brennan mumbled her protest, drawing the blanket against her breasts. "Seeley?" Camille asked, tentative and unsure.

"Why?" he asked, searching for his underwear on the floor. Outside, branches rapped noisily against the glass, drowning out the sound of his annoyance. He glanced nervously towards the bed, hating that he had been torn from her lovely warmth.

"I'd like to talk with you..." Camille sighed, and he imagined her nervously pacing her apartment floor, pulling back the curtains. "But some of this bad feeling to rest." He paused, hand on his hip, his eyes narrowing with instinctive distrust. After her bitter resentment earlier, he felt sure she wouldn't want to forgive so quickly. "Please?" Shaking himself, he began the difficult task of locating his clothes, scattered from the bedroom to the living room, piles of his, tangled with piles of hers.

"The diner," he said, slipping into his pants. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Her phone clicked, and he sighed, pressing his forehead to the door frame. He could easily have slept in the blissful warmth of her arms, and as her fingers danced across the sheets, subconsciously searching for him, he felt guilty for leaving her. He could have taken off his clothes again, clambered back into bed and forgotten all about the inconvenience of Camille's call. He would have liked to.

Buttoning his shirt he searched for his car keys, lifting pillows and books before he found them wedged between the sofa cushions, inches from where he'd dropped his pants. As he slipped out of her apartment, a heavy, anxious feeling pressing against his gut, he winced. Why had he agreed? Why would he even consider a late night rendezvous with Cam? Hadn't she done enough damage without tainting their relationship further? Why was he even provoking another disaster?

The journey to the diner took ten minutes, and as he stopped outside, he saw Camille at the window, nursing a cup of coffee, her face turned towards the road. She offered him a faltering wave, her smile coy. He realised his fingers were tight around the steering wheel, his knuckles aching. Killing the engine, Booth cleared his throat, willing himself to be calm. He'd never hurt a woman yet, and he had no intentions of making tonight a first.

The air was cold, biting against his still bed-warmed skin, and he realised his hair was dishevelled from sex and sleep. He had taken no time to inspect his appearance before leaving, and for the millionth time, he wished he'd asked Camille to meet with him in the morning. The diner's lack of customers made him feel uncomfortable, almost as though they weren't in public after all – for aside from a lone trucker, they were the only two patrons.

"Thank you for coming," she said, by way of greeting. He slid into the booth facing her, declining a cup of coffee from a passing waitress. Camille held her mug for a refill, keeping her eyes lowered. "You look tired," she commented, shifting her gaze across the table cloth.

"It's two thirty," he replied dryly. "I was asleep." Camille's eyes flew upward, settling on his face.

"With her?" she asked, her fingers tight around her cup. He blinked slowly, tilting his head as though to silently ask her why this would concern or surprise her. "I expected as much," she admitted with a shrug. "Thanks for coming." He noted that her repetitive was symbolic of her nervous, or perhaps of her mentally wishing _she_ had chosen another time. Another place.

"Yes," he said patiently, "you said that already." A frown marred her forehead and she sipped her coffee. "Did you want me here so you could look at me from across the table and insult my appearance, or..."

"Why her?" she interrupted. "Why, after all the time we spent together, after our 'getting back together' did you suddenly give up on us?" Booth groaned deeply in his chest, massaging the creases of his forehead. Suddenly the florescent lights were too bright, and his temples ached.

"Firstly, Camille," he said, "we never got back together. There was never anything exclusive. Secondly, you _knew_ how I felt about her, which is exactly why you asked me to call time on us if I wanted to. When I did, you were alright with that." She dropped a compact cube of sugar into her coffee, inhaling sharply.

"I'm not alright with it," she said at last.

"Then I apologise that your feelings are hurt or that we crossed wires." He thought he saw a watery layer of tears in her eyes.

"I thought," she pulled an unsteady breath into her lungs, "after all this time, we had something. I thought for a moment I loved you." He dropped his head back, closing his eyes against the harsh light. It was too early in the morning for such emotional revelations.

"You _knew_ I loved her," he replied, his nails digging into his thighs. It was the first time he had voiced it, even to himself. Camille downed two mouthfuls of coffee, as if she were washing away the emotion in her voice.

"And do you?" she asked soberly.

"Do I what?" he queried, opening his eyes again.

"Love her?"

"Yes," he said, without skipping a beat. Then, more slowly, "Yes, I do." Camille shrugged.

"Then there's not really anything left to say," she whispered, emptying her cup. "Goodnight, Seeley."

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"Hmm... where did you go?" she asked sleepily, her eyes barely opening as he slid between the sheets, his body shifting against hers.

"It doesn't matter, Temperance," he said. "I'll tell you all about it in the morning."

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REVIEW!


	11. Chapter 11

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Rating: **T

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone for the continued support. I am so glad everyone is enjoying this. I like to think that Brennan's reaction to Booth's admission here is a little more realistic than her being wildly jealous – because I simply don't think she would be. Thanks.

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Brennan dressed, silently contemplative, while, on the bed, Booth lay, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Although he couldn't see her, he knew each movement she made, perfectly choreographed; underwear first, jeans, shirt and when she began to run a brush through her hair, he shifted his gaze to her. The early morning light cast a golden glow through the silken strands.

"Camille called me last night," he said, and he noticed her spine stiffen, the movement was infinitesimal, but he was so aware of each movement of her body that he could detect even the smallest shift. Her fingers repeated the path of her brush, fluffing her flattened hair.

"Oh?" she said, placing the antique silver brush on the dresser, slipping red beaded earrings into her lobes. The tiny scarlet gems brushed her jaw as she reached for her necklace, a heavy rope of round polished stones, a similar shade to her earrings.

"She asked me to me her at the diner," he placed his head in his hand, the sheet slipping over his hipbone. She glanced at him in the mirror, her eyes following the trail of dark hair long his belly.

"Is that were you went last night?" Brennan asked, slipping her feet into her boots. His lashes brushed his cheeks when his eyes narrowed, gauging her irritation. By all outward appearances, she was calm and collected, in no way threatened by the woman who systematically wanted to destroy her.

"She sounded desperate, Bones," he reasoned and she turned, her bright blue eyes holding no trace of ice.

"Is she alright?" He was surprised by her apparent concern, having never been in a relationship that was so devoid of jealousy. Swinging his legs over the end of the bed, he held the sheet close, crossing the bedroom until he stood before her. Taking her shoulders in his hand, he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, smiling as he did.

"She's fine. Camille just wanted to make sure I'd made the right choice." Brennan blinked, a brief bolt of electric blue shooting through her crystal irises.

"Have you?" she asked, a hint of self-doubt creeping into her tone. His smile was brilliant.

"Absolutely," he said, nodding. "Even if I could have foreseen this chain of events, I'd still be here." He brushed his fingers over her clavicle, feeling her heart leap against his touch, and her reaction to him only proved to reinforce his certainty. "You could stay… go to work late…" he whispered, cupping her breast through her shirt. She leant into him, her nipple hardening through the silken material.

"No I can't," she reasoned, instantly wet. "I need to reassure _myself _that this relationship isn't going to effect my work." Booth nodded, pressing his forehead to hers. He inhaled her perfume, a sweet floral scent that was both comforting and alluring, all at once. Virginal yet vixen. "Tonight, if you pull another stunt like last night in the hallway…" he shushed her.

"Don't go all school teacher on me, Bones… you enjoyed it." A blush tipped her cheeks, and she hated to admit it, but she did love the dangerous element to his unique spin on lovemaking. She got a thrill, imaging that one of her neighbours could easily have rounded the corner. "Maybe tonight, I'll take you to a parking lot and you can put some handprints on a steamy windshield." She swatted his chest.

"That is so adolescent, Booth," she said, shaking her head. "I would at least expect to be romanced a little, first." He smiled.

"You _do_ have a sense of humour, Temperance," he whispered, "all evidence to the contrary." She narrowed her eyes.

"My humour and yours is just different." She slid from his embrace, gathering her belongings. "I'll see you tonight?" she asked, eyeing the bed. He caught her implication, and grinned.

"Sure," he said, tightening the sheet around his waist when he caught the hint of her wandering gaze. "Oh and, you're not going to rip Cam's hair out by the roots, are you?" he asked. Temperance slid her arms into her coat, a tell-tale smirk toying with her lips. He wanted to touch her, ravage her.

"Booth," she said patiently, "I'm not one of those women." He knew immediately what she meant, and understood that she certainly wasn't. Tempe wasn't ravaged by jealousy – it simply wasn't in her nature. While inwardly, she was probably a little irked at Camille's audacity, and a prickle of self-doubt nudged the back of her mind, he suspected she was almost perfectly confident in herself. Totally self reliant. If he left her now, and shacked up with Camille, Temperance would survive. And he loved that about her.

"You're amazing…" he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching as she buttoned her coat.

"This isn't a line to get me into bed, is it?" she asked, dropping her hands from the little buttons. He grinned.

"I wasn't, but if it worked, it could be…" Brennan rolled her eyes.

"It won't. I need to go." He caught the whisper of goodbye in her voice as she exited the bedroom, and for probably the first time in his life, he hated being alone.

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"Do you love him?" Angela swung the door shut, the glass rattling in the frame. Brennan felt her spine stiffen at the sudden intrusion, and when she realised it was her best friend and not a threatening inquisition, she relaxed.

"I don't feel comfortable discussing it with anyone, Ange," she replied, her fingers moving over her keyboard. "Shouldn't you be working? Doing something constructive before Camille sucks your career out of the Jeffersonian?" Angela grinned, liking the new-found bitchiness of her best friend.

"Nope," she replied, dropping into the couch. "Camille took a few days to visit her family in New York. We're free…" she allowed her voice to drag out the final word for maximum effect. Brennan glanced up. Barely.

"Why?" she asked, suspecting that it had a lot to do with Booth's refusal to be with her.

"I don't know. She called this morning from JFK." Brennan lifted her eyes fully now.

"It must be nice not having to get holidays approved." Angela nodded. "Anyway, if you're here to get information out of me, you can just leave." Brennan pushed her chair back, folding her arms. She looked stern, unwavering.

"Yeah right," Angela chuckled. "What gives… either he's the best in bed or you love him. No way would you have chosen him over career if he wasn't something special." Brennan's fingers tightened, the truth of her friend's words becoming strikingly real. "Ooh…" Angela's eyes widened. "This is brilliant, sweetie, and this time, I _promise_ I won't breathe a word to anyone. Last time it was a _huge _mistake…" Brennan's gaze flittered to her friend's face and she sighed.

"I want to see how things go, Angela. I'm not going to curse things with words like 'love' and 'special'." She stood, turning away from her friend and the situation.

"You don't believe in curses," she replied. "But you do believe in important relationships. Don't let your fear eat into this one, sweetie. He's too…"

Brennan nodded. "I know what he is," she replied firmly. "And I'll admit it when I'm ready." Angela clicked her tongue, her tone decisively impatient.

"What is he, honey? Admit it _now_!" Brennan spun.

"Why don't you admit what Jack is to you?" she barked and Angela recoiled, looking as though she'd been slapped. "Because you're afraid to admit he's perfect for you? Don't come in here, Ange, preaching, until you stop making the same mistakes as me." Sliding her hands into her pockets, Brennan blinked, shocking by her own outburst. "I'll admit that Booth is perfect," she paused, "when you do the same." Certain that she'd put an end to Angela's persistent romance, Brennan relaxed.

Angela straightened and stood. "Fine," she said, her tone as firm as Brennan's. "I'll do it. Right now."

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I've been busy so I apologise for the delay in this chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Rating: **T

**A\N: **I hope everyone is still continuing to enjoy my little story. Review and let me know what you think!

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The gardens were always different, season to season. Temperance enjoyed watching the blossoms as they developed, changing with the weather, vibrant pinks becoming rustic oranges, to explosive yellows. On certain days, when skeletal remains became her only ally in life, she would take a walk along the rows of rose bushes. She knew her social situations were at their worst, when her closest friend was a pile of bones. Today, perhaps, she wasn't feeling quite so melodramatic, but with Angela calling her bluff, she suddenly felt weary. A pinching anxiety nipped at the bottom of her brain, and a tension headache throbbed.

Hands buried in her coat, she passed a row of tiny snowdrop flowers, their smooth white heads cast downward as though in sorrow. She knelt, her knees pressed almost to her chest as she avoided touching the moist, chilled earth. A breeze rustled through the leaves, and the flowers bobbed, a timed dance that was appeared almost to be choreographed. The greyish green leaves carried a hint of morning dew, and despite the cold, Brennan couldn't resist reaching out to touch the sparkling drop.

"Galanthus nivilas," she heard Jack say, and she lifted her head, drying her fingertip on her jeans. He wore his jacket buttoned all the way up to his chin, a pair of wool gloves and a navy scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. His eyes met hers, and he gestured to the flowers. "They usually don't blossom until the New Year – a foretelling of spring," he said. "That they have appeared already is sign of a very mild winter." Temperance stood, stretching the kinks from her knees.

"It doesn't feel mild," she replied, lifting her eyes to the cloudless sky – the colour was so pale that the atmosphere itself seemed thin. Crisp and devoid of the city smog, Brennan always felt as though the Jeffersonian were placed in the middle of the country. But if she listened hard enough, the highway was still audible, even among the silently bobbing snowdrops. Jack shifted, moving along the rows of winter blooming flowers.

"No," he agreed, flexing his glove-clad fingers. "It's nice here, though." Brennan murmured, passing a bare rose bush. "I usually have to deal with flowers that have died. Or identify particulates from long decomposed fauna. It's nice, sometimes, to see plants in the 'before' image." Brennan lifted her eyes from the petals of a pale blue flower. Jack wasn't watch her, but rather the swaying boughs of a leafless tree at the perimeter of the land. When she followed his gaze, she became aware of the creaking branches as they chafed together. "It's called a primula," Jack said, and she frowned. "The blue flower," he explained, gesturing to her feet. "You'll find that it blooms in yellow, purple and red." Brennan nudged him.

"A lesson in botany?" she asked, and he smiled at her. The corners of his eyes wrinkled with his amusement, and he shrugged by way of apology. "Have you spoke to Angela today?" Brennan asked. Beside her, Hodgins seemed to stiffen inside the padding of his coat, his smile vanishing as though it had never existed at all.

"Briefly," he said vaguely. "She's not exactly the bearer of exciting conversation these days." Brennan, never the best person to read tonal structure or personalities, still sensed a hint of saddened malice in Jack's voice. She shifted, edging along the damp, cold grass towards the wooden gazebo at the bottom of the garden. As if following her incentive, Hodgins followed.

"Angela is afraid to admit her feelings, Jack," she said, her own voice a raspy whisper. She felt like a hypocrite, talking about her best friend as though she herself were somehow a higher being, morally. As she climbed the steps to the gazebo, her boots making no sound on the sturdy oak, Brennan felt the familiar squeeze of fear that almost left her breathless. She told herself to exhale, to permit herself to feel. Yet, without Booth's soft persistence, her silent pleas meant almost nothing.

"Sounds familiar," Jack scoffed, sinking to the bench. He slouched, folding his hands over his torso. In the gloves, his fingers looked longer, chunkier. "But I get it." Brennan folded her legs, drawing warmth from her own body. When she dispelled a breath, the white vapour coated her cheeks. "How's things with Booth?" She glanced sideways and Jack sighed. "Let me guess, our Federal agent is a forbidden topic…?" she half shrugged in response. "Sounds like Angela isn't the only one whose feeling a little scared."

Temperance turned her eyes to the stained oak panelling, to the inscription above the entrance. She admired the cursive stroke, carved expertly into the wood, painted a shade darker for emphasis. She found it curious that, after all the afternoons she'd spent in the little gazebo, she had never noticed it before.

_Be happy while you are living. For you are a long time dead. _

She frowned, tilting her head. Jack followed her gaze. "It's not very well suited to the Jeffersonian, is it?" she asked, knotting her fingers together. The words seemed to glow in her mind, as though somewhere, she thought to be taking heed. Jack chuckled.

"I'm a scientist through and through, Brennan," he said, "but I'd have to say that, in a place like this, there's nowhere better for such proverbs." She drew her gaze over the words again, slowly this time, pulling the full meaning into her soul, before turning her body towards Jack.

"Why?" she asked. He blinked.

"We deal with death a lot," he explained. "Maybe not _all_ the scientists here… but for us… it's certainly something worth thinking about." Brennan shrugged.

"I'm not sure I put much credence in proverbs and quotes. They're basically just opinions." The trees creaked again, and far beyond the gazebo, two blue coated men wandered along the rows of neat grass, their fingers clenched tight against the cold. Jack slid closer to her, forcing her to look at him. She fought the urge to stand, put space between herself and her colleague.

"Why are you afraid to be happy, Brennan?" he asked. "Why is Angela afraid?" She wished she had the answers he wanted – for herself, too. Happiness was fickle, fragile. She learned at a young age just how easy it was to shatter the illusion of happiness. Instead of voicing this, Brennan shrugged her shoulders. "Do you place credence in sayings such as '_It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all_'?" Jack asked, and Brennan felt her shoulders knot a little tighter, the twist of anxiety pressing hard against her heart. "By all outward appearances," he continued, as though he hadn't been expecting an answer, "you and Angela seem so vastly different. Different personalities, different ideas… yet in reality, you're frighteningly similar." Brennan had thought about this too, after their argument in the morning. Hodgins slapped his hands on his thighs, standing, the cotton and wool muffled the noise. Stretching, he popped his knuckles, a rapid series of clicks. "Well, I've named flowers, breathed a little fresh air and contemplated philosophy. It's time for work again." Temperance watched him as he descended the steps, meandering his way through the shrubs, passing by the snowdrops again. He could easily have walked in a straight line, but somehow, she suspected he wanted to prolong his moment of freedom. She partly understood his reluctance to return to normality – whatever it was.

In her pocket, her cell phone vibrated against her breast and she jolted, rummaging inside the fleecy lining. "Brennan," she said, turning away from the seemingly luminous proverb over her head. Jack had disappeared now, swallowed by the enormous Jeffersonian.

"Have you had lunch yet?" Booth asked, pleasantly hopeful.

"Yes," she lied, her stomach growling traitorously. He didn't speak, but his silence was deflated. "Have you…?"

"A blueberry muffin and a coffee," he replied. "I'm not that hungry. To be honest, I just wanted to steal a few minutes with you." She ought to have been touched, and secretly she was, but it was so difficult to admit it. "Hey Bones?" he asked when she was silent for a long moment of personal bleakness. "Had a tough day?" Her afternoon had been quieter than usual, filled with reports and research, yet she felt irritated and nervy.

"It's been one of those days," she confided. "I'd like nothing better than to go home, shower, drink wine and sleep." Glancing at her watch, she kept her eyes focused on the slender silver hand, it seemed pause forever before sliding on. "Unfortunately I've another five hours to go and an hour in traffic home…" Booth sighed with empathy, and for a moment, they were a normal couple, discussing the hardships of life. If it weren't for Camille, he'd probably be at the Jeffersonian with her now.

"Go get some coffee," he soothed, "and I'll see you tonight." Suddenly she wished she hadn't lied about lunch, and she was still confused as to why she had. Her soul felt deflated with dishonesty and loneliness as she hung up her cell phone, tucking it back into her pocket. Her fingers felt numb, chilled by the afternoon air. Turning on her heel, she went to move towards the steps, and froze. The tall man at the foot of the gazebo, dressed in a navy suit and matching tie could only be FBI. Without hearing him speak, she knew that her new partner had been assigned.


	13. Chapter 13

**Title: **Beyond the Fear

**Disclaimer: **These characters are not mine.

**Rating: **T

**A/N: **Please review. Thank you!

"Delighted to meet you," he said, with a soft spoken, yet slightly intimidating tone, tilting his head as though he were appraising her. Brennan shifted, lifting her chin with unspoken defiance. "Tom," he thrust his hand towards her, and she glanced down, studying his structure as she had done with every person she'd met in the past five years.

"Tom?" she asked, sliding her hand into his. His handshake was firm, his palm cold.

"Pyper," he replied. "Tom Pyper." Brennan nodded, once. He already knew her name, she wasn't going to waste time with false pleasantries. Slipping past him, she strode between the barren rose bushes, towards the arched entrance to the lab. Behind her, he followed, nowhere near as tall as Booth. He almost jogged to maintain her pace. "We have a case," he said, reaching for her elbow, willing her to be still. Brennan shook herself free, spinning on her toe. Their bodies almost collided, and he sensed her annoyance. "Sorry," Pyper said at once, offering her his upward palms. Her eyes narrowed.

Between them, an electricity sparked, totally different to that which was immediately forged between Brennan and Booth. She disliked him, without offering him an opportunity to prove himself. She saw him as a foe, an enemy which had torn apart an effective and respecting partnership. Inwardly, she knew it wasn't Tom Pyper's fault. Yet she saw him as the final nail in the coffin. "Do not touch me," she snapped, turning again. He mumbled another apology.

"I understand I'm not exactly welcome in your company, Dr Brennan, and if it means anything, I don't want to be here either. I'm twenty five. Booth is at least ten years older than me, with ten years for experience. I'm here because no one else wanted the job." She kept her back to him, striding on, relentless.

"Then quit," she said, as though there were nothing more to say. Tom chuckled.

"I have a wife. A daughter. I can't just quit." His arm swung by her, and she saw the glint on gold on his hand. A wife. He looked so fresh faced, so naïve. He was the pawn in the bureaucratic game. A wave of sympathy surged through her. "If I'm honest, I think it's unfair what they've done."

_What she's done_, Brennan thought, stepping into the Jeffersonian. What Camille Saroyan has done. "What's the case?" she asked, swiping her card. She allowed Tom to brush past her, his eyes rising to the roof, dropping to the ground, drawing everything in. He was as awed as Booth once was.

"Grave robbers unearthed a grave in Maryland last night. When the family arrived this morning, they saw the coffin and they body in there isn't their loved one." Brennan blinked, masking her surprise with her usual deadpan expression.

"How did they know?" she asked.

"The dead man had four gold teeth, apparently. This body did not."

"Weren't they just stolen?" she asked, sounding perhaps a little less sympathetic as she should have. Pyper chuckled.

"Nope. But the body which _should_ have been in there, was Harold Toren. He was murdered last year, and we suspect if we can identify this body, we might finally be able to solve the murder." Brennan slid her hands into her pockets, mulling over the facts. "Your team are already examining the remains. That assistant of yours, he wastes no time."

"Zach is a keen worker. When the clock is ticking, you'll find him to be an asset," she said testily. "Anything buried with the body?" she asked. Pyper shook his head. "Clothes?"

"No."

"Dr Brennan?" Zach strode towards her, his lab coat a blur of blue behind him as he rushed along the corridor. His eyes were bright, illuminated by his thrill of a new case. He cast a weary glance towards Pyper, and Brennan understood his reluctance. The scientists on her team disliked change. Their comfort zone was being tested, and everyone felt disturbed. "Might I have a word with you?" he lifted his eyes. "In private?" Tom shifted, slinking back as Brennan directed Zach into her office, easing the door shut. "I know I appear rude," he apologised, gesturing to the glass window. "I feel..."

"It's alright, Zach. He's alright."

"He's not Booth."

Brennan sank into her chair, dropping her head into her hands. He hoped she wouldn't have to nurse them all, coax them to accept their new colleague. "I know," she said, turning her head towards him. "But he's here, regardless."

"The victim is a male. Approximately fifty five to sixty. Too old to be Harold Toren, who was only thirty nine. Angela has done a preliminary sketch..." Zach hurried on, somewhat embarrassed by his show of displeasure. "Hodgins found some fibres, not consistent with the lining of the casket, so he's making some comparisons." Brennan nodded. "I just wanted to see if... you're okay...?" He shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, and she smiled.

"I'm fine," she said. "This is only temporary."

"How can we be sure, Dr Brennan? How can we know we'll ever have Booth back?"

She wished it were possible to answer, yet no words of comfort formed, and she merely shrugged.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Booth folded his newspaper when she stepped into her apartment. His eyes followed her across the living room, taking in her weariness, the heaviness of her shoulders and he opened his arms to her on instinct. She slid easily to her knees, enveloped by his embrace. "Bad day?" he whispered into her hair. She nodded against his shoulder, drawing the scent of him into her lungs.

"You know..." she said, not asking a question, but rather expressing a statement. He nodded. "It's wrong."

"It'll be okay soon," he replied, tracing a whispering kiss across her forehead. "Pyper is a kid."

"He's a kid with a kid. He isn't going to run away, Booth." He shushed her, stroking the tousled strands of her hair. She sighed, allowing herself to revel in the comfort he offered her.

"He doesn't need to quit. He'll be reassigned and I," he kissed her temple now, "will be back in your lab, pissing you off, before you know it." She chuckled, a lowly, comfortable laugh that vibrated through his own chest. "Would you like some food?" She knelt back, taking his hand. Their fingers entwined, a tight, firm knot. She shifted, folding her legs under herself.

"Booth," she whispered, dropping her eyes. "I lied to you today. I don't want you to be upset with me." He straightened, focusing his full attention on her. He watched the colour of her eyes change, similar to how the ocean might look under the sun, bright aquamarine. Then they darkened, as if a heavy cloud had passed over the light. She looked troubled. "It's stupid, really…" she said with a weighted breath, waving her hand. "You asked me to meet you for lunch, and I lied when I said I had already eaten. I don't…" she swallowed, the sound audible, laced with tears. Her eyes remained dry, however. "I can't reasonably explain why I have… done this… except perhaps fear…" Booth broke into a cheeky grin, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her against the hard wall of his chest. He smelt wonderful, familiar and spicy.

"Bones, it's alright. Being afraid is who you are. I understand that sometimes, you're going to feel trapped. But soon, you'll learn to adapt." She drew circles on her jeans, the denim rough against her fingertips.

"I hope so," she admitted.

"You will," he nodded, confident. "For now, this is fine." Her smile was infectious, and he was elated to know that he could bring her back from the brink of fear. "So, shall we test my culinary skills?" She unfolded herself, straightening her legs. He stood, slipping his arms around her waist.

"Okay," she replied, padding across the floor. He began rummaging through her cupboards as though he'd been doing it for years, collecting ingredients and humming beneath his breath. She stood against the counter, watching his movements, wondering at how he looked as though he were performing a dance. He slid his knife through peppers and onions, seasoning raw slices of chicken, nodding his head to a tune only he could hear. Temperance slid her hands into her pockets.

"Do you know Agent Pyper?" she asked.

"Not really," he replied. "Do you dislike him?" Brennan shrugged.

"No," she admitted. "He seems okay… I just feel uncomfortable. I have so much resentment for Camille, and I have never felt this way before. I'm not sure how I ought to handle it." Booth glanced over his shoulder, chuckling.

"You're the only person who tries to rationalise irrational anger," he said.

"She tore away a perfectly functional partnership," she sighed. "And it's not irrational of me to hate her…" Booth lifted an eyebrow.

"Hate? It's so unlike you, Brennan." She nodded.

"I know. I just can't understand such jealousy. You didn't want her, and she feels humiliated. But what she did…"

"Brennan," he turned to her. "I understand your annoyance, but shall we forget about Camille and just pretend that it's just you and I together with no consequence for love?" She stilled. "I know you're afraid to hear it, and I know this is going to bring your flight instinct into over drive, but you know it." She nodded, smiling softly.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I know."


End file.
